Margaret  T  Apple^arth 


MBNAIL  SKETCHES 
from. 

HOME  MISSION^' 


Zihmvy  of  Che  Cheolo^ical  ^eminarjp 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

Jolin  Stuart  Conning,  D.D, 

BV  2777  .A66  1921 
Applegarth,  Margaret  T.  188< 
-1976.  I 

Next  door  neighbors 


Next-Door  Neighbors 


HOP    ()'    MV    THUMB    IS    HOPING    YOU    WILL    LIKE    ALL 
THESE    NEW    NEXT   DOOR    NEIGHBORS 


Next-Door  Neighbors 


Thumbnail  Sketches  from 
Home  Missions 


By 
MARGARET  TYSON  APPLEGARTH 

Author  of  "  Lamp-Lighters  Across  the  Sea," 
"  Jack-of- All- Trades,"  etc. 


New  York  Chicago 

Fleming     H.      Revel!      Company 
London  and  Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago':  17  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London :  2 1  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh :       75     Princes     Street 


To 
B.  D.  H. 

My  Neighbor  Round  the  Corner! 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The  author  of  these  stories  gratefully 
acknowledges  the  courtesy  of  the  De- 
partment of  Missionary  Education  of  the 
Northern  Baptist  Convention  for  per- 
mission to  use  the  chapters  marked  *, 
and  the  courtesy  of  Miss  Nan  F. 
Weeks,  Editor  of  Junior  World  for 
permission  to  use  chapters  marked  f. 


These  People  Called  Neighbors — Who 
Are  They  * 

NINETEEN  hundred  years  ago,  when  the 
Lord  was  here  among  men,  He  answered 
this  question  Himself  by  telling  of  the 
Good  Samaritan.  Well  as  we  know  Luke's  render- 
ing of  the  story  there  is  still  a  fresh  significance  for 
each  of  us  in  a  certain  Polish  boy's  quaint  mispro- 
nunciation of  the  word  Samaritan :  a  keynote  for  this 
book  of  next-door  neighbors — 

"  Comes  walking  a  man, — Pole  maybe,  I  thinks. 
Und  comes  running  bad  mens  und  joomps  on  him. 
Sooner  they  joomps  on  him  they  makes  holes  all  over 
him  und  he  most  dies.  Goes  the  bad  mens,  mit  his 
watch  und  his  knife  und  his  pencil-from-silver,  und 
he  most  dies  some  more.  Then  comes  walking  proud 
priest.  Sooner  he  sees  the  man  mit  holes  all  over 
him,  sooner  he  walks  away  quick.  Comes  walking 
nudder  man.  Goes  quick,  also.  Comes  riding  good 
Sir  American  man.  Sooner  he  sees,  out  he  joomps. 
Hoists  him  into  his  auto — gently  Teacher,  and  runs 
him  to-er-er — Free  Dispensary,  perhaps,  maybe  I 
think,  und  gives  moneys  on  the  Doctor.  *  Cure  my 
neighbor  quick,  und  so  I  pays  you  more  moneys,'  he 
says.  Und  Teacher,  sooner  we  sees  anybody  in  trou- 
bles, he  is  neighbors  on  us,  says  Jesus,  und  we  must 
be  good  Sir  Americans  on  him  quick." 


zi 


ON  THE  LOWER  WEST  SIDE 

Oh !  life  is  life  on  the  lower  West  Side, 
Just  as  it  is  on  Riverside  Drive. 
There  is  love  and  honor  and  courage  there. 
And  hatred  and  failure  and  black  despair — 
Mixed  up,  and  they're  mixed  up  everywhere — 
On  the  lower  West  Side. 

There  is  mother  love  on  the  lower  West  Side 
More  than  there  is  on  Riverside  Drive. 
Warm  lips  are  pressed  close  to  a  willing  breast, 
And  babes  are  in  love-hungry  arms  caressed, 
While  love  sings  its  little  ones  to  rest — 
On  the  lower  West  Side. 

There's  a  courage  fine  on  the  lower  West  Side, 
Just  as  there  is  on  Riverside  Drive. 
Men  meet  their  struggle  and  grip  it  tight, 
They  give  red  blood  in  their  upward  fight 
As  they  climb  from  the  blackness  into  the  light — 
On  the  lower  West  Side. 

I  sing  these  songs  of  the  folks  I  know 

Who  never  have  seen  a  flower  grow ; 

I  sing  them  to  you  in  your  homes  of  ease, 

That  you  may  have  pity  and  justice  for  these, 

Your  brothers  and  sisters  who  hunger  and  freeze — 

On  the  lower  West  Side. 

A.  Ray  Petty. 
xa 


Contents 

Jewish  Neighbors 

I.  The  Land  of  the  Pot  of  Gold  f     .       15 

II.  Moses  Aaron  in  Search  of  a  Name  *      23 

Polish  Neighbors 

III.  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  t  .  29 

IV.  *'  A  Hat  for  the  Laundress,  and — 

Something  Else  !  "      .        .        .36 

Italian  Neighbors 

V.  Tiptoe  Tessa   Goes    Through  the 

Keyhole 42 

VI.  Because  of  the  Kid  Glove  Lady  *  .      48 

Bohemian    Neighbors 

VII.  The  Calico  Mother's  Apron  Strings      5  3 

VIII.  On  the  Wings  of  the  Dandelion    .      59 

Chinese  Neighbors 

IX.  Slant-Eyes  and  Pig-Tails  *     .        .62 

X.  SoTSi's  Soap-Suds  *  .        .        .        -67 

Japanese   Neighbor^ 

XI.  Introducing    Miss    Ten-Thousand- 

Ages-of-Bamboo-Grass  *  .  -73 

XII.  Little   Miss  Waterfall  Tumbles 

Down  t 78 

13 


14  COlsTENTS 

Negro   Neighbors 

XIII.  Brown  Betty  and  the  Chocolate 

BABYt 85 

XIV.  The  Ghost  Around  the  Corner  *   .      91 

Mountaineer  Neighbors 

XV.  Sissy  Sunbonnet  and  Buddy  Bare- 

foot    95 

XVI.  Lilies  of  the  Valley       .        •        •      99 

Indian  Neighbors 

XVII.  Little  Squaw  Laughs-at-the-Sky  t     105 

XVIII.  Outside  the  Gates         .        .        .114 

Alaskan   Neighbors 

XIX.  An  Odor  of  A  Sweet  Smell    .        .118 

XX.  Little  Northern  Lights,  or  What 

Happened    to    the    Christmas 
Candles 122 

Latin- Atnerican  Neighbors 

XXI.  Minus  One  !  (Porto  Rico)  *      .        .127 

XXII.  Straight  from  Heaven  to  Teofilo 

(Cuba) 131 

Western  Neighbors 

XXIII.  The  Fairy  with  Whiskers  f  (Nor- 

wegian)        136 

XXIV.  Just  Mither 142 

The  Rest  of  Us 

XXV.  ;^ing  a  i^ong  of  ;^ixpence  .  .     148 

XXVI.  Please  Do  Not  Open  Till  Christ- 

mas *  154 


THE  JEWS 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  POT  OF  GOLD 

ISADORE  looked  at  his  mother  critically. 
"  Somehow,"  he  said,  much  puzzled,  "  some- 
how you  look  all  wrong." 

She  stared  at  him,  surprised.  "  S-so  ?  "  she  sighed, 
"  and  this  is  the  sort  of  welcome  you  make  on  your 
own  mother  for  crossing  wet  oceans,  and  for  riding 
in  the  stomach  of  big  ships,  and  for  getting  herself 
nearly  drowned  by  all  that  too-much  water,  and 
nearly  killed  by  all  that  too-much  tossing?  You  just 
sit  and  make  a  bad  remark  on  her :  '  You  look 
all  wrong ! '    Yah !  a  good  son  you  are  to  me — not !  " 

Isadore  squirmed  in  his  chair.  "  Didn't  I  send 
you  the  moneys  for  the  trip  over  from  Russia,  my 
mother  ? "  he  asked,  "  and  didn't  I  rent  this  room 
for  us  to  live  in?  And  didn't  I  buy  that  bed-from- 
brass  and  this  chair  with  a  seat-f  rom-leather  ?  Yah ! 
You  just  smell  it — Isn't  it  real  leather?  To  be  sure  it 
is.  Did  you  ever  have  beds-from-brass  and  chairs- 
f rom-leather  over  in  Russia  ?  " 

The  poor  old  woman  shook  her  head  forlornly.  It 
was  true !  She  had  lived  in  a  hovel  over  there,  with 
a  bed — oh,  well,  a  very  uncertain  sort  of  bed  that 
collapsed  at  sad  intervals. 

15 


16  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

Isadore  laughed  softly :  "And  I  make  no  forgetting 
of  the  curtains  at  the  windows — say?  Were  there 
curtains-from-white-lace  in  the  windows  in  Russia? 
Or  did  the  water  run  indoors  for  washings  through 
silver  pipes, — one  hot,  one  cold  ? " 

"  No,  Issy,"  sighed  his  mother,  crestfallen,  re- 
membering many  a  winter's  morning  when  she  carried 
all  their  clothes  down  to  the  river  bank,  where  she 
cracked  the  ice  and  did  her  laundry  work  through 
that  chilly  hole. 

"  Then,"  said  Isadore  proudly,  "  then  I'm  a  real 
American,  I  am.  And  these  are  American  beds- 
from-brass  and  American  curtains-from-lace.  So  I 
guess  I  know  how  American  ladies  should  look, 
much  different  from  you " 

His  mother  poked  a  finger  at  him,  scornfully: 
"  Tut !  You !  And  what  do  you  know  about  Ameri- 
can ladies?  Come!  Are  you  perhaps  living  in  the 
palace  of  the  King  of  America  with  princesses  to 
serve  you  ? " 

Isadore  stood  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  "  King!  '* 
he  shouted,  "King?  America's  no  land  for  kings — 
listen,  my  mother,  this  is  what  they  tell  me  by  the 
night-school  over  at  the  Center:  there  was  a  man 
named  George  Washington.  He  wore  a  wig  with  a 
hair  ribbon.  And  since  his  day  there  is  no  more 
king  to  rule  over  Americans." 

His  mother  rocked  herself  in  the  chair-from- 
leather,  and  tittered  in  huge  delight :  "  How  you  make 
words,  Issy !  A  white  wig  tied  with  hair  ribbons,  eh? 
You  can't  make  your  old  mother  from  Russia  believe 
such  yarns.'* 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  POT  OF  GOLD   17 

**  But  it's  true,"  Isadore  said  gently,  "  being  so  new 
on  America,  how  should  you  know  everything  ?  It  is 
I  who  will  tell  you  more,  on  the  nights  when  I  do  not 
go  by  the  Center.  And  with  my  next  moneys  I  will 
buy  a  picture  of  this  George  Washington  to  hang 
over  the  bed-from-brass.  There  was  another  man, 
too,  Abraham  Lincoln.  He  did  not  wear  a  hair 
ribbon.  But  when  he  died  there  were  no  more  slaves 
allowed.  Now  that  was  a  fine  thing,  my  mother — no 
more  slaves.  Everybody  free  to  walk  around  and 
rule  themselves.  I  ask  you:  were  we  free  in  Rus- 
sia?" 

"  No !  Issy,  no ! "  wailed  the  little  old  woman, 
shuddering,  hearing  in  her  memory  the  clash  of  a 
soldier's  gun  against  her  door. 

"  Well  now,  seeing  I  am  American  since  so  many 
years  back,  I  know  how  American  women  ought  to 
look.  On  the  street,  no  shawls  or  big  ear-rings,  but 
coats  and  hats  on  her  head." 

"  Tut ! "  clucked  the  old  peasant  woman,  amused 
once  more,  "now  I  make  sure  you  are  gabbling 
about  princesses  again." 

Isadore  waved  his  hand.  "  Haven't  I  said  it  once? 
Then  I  say  it  twice :  no  king  in  America,  no  slaves  in 
America,  no  princesses  in  America.  All  free  alike. 
I  have  a  friend,  a  lady,  and  she  will  make  calls  on 
you,  so  you  will  see.  Hats.  Coats.  Things  on  her 
hands,  too.  The  next  moneys  I  earn  I  will  buy  you 
hats  and  coats  and  gloves-from-leather.  You  shall 
see ! " 

"  Oh,  Issy ! "  gasped  the  dear  old  soul  delightedly. 
Then  to  hide  her  tears  she  began  opening  the  bundles 


18  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

brought  all  the  weary  way  from  Russia — there  was  a 
precious  brass  candlestick  to  put  in  the  middle  of 
Isadore's  pine  table,  bought  second-hand;  she  had 
two  copper  pots  in  which  to  cook  their  meals  and  a 
gay  patchwork  quilt  to  spread  over  the  fine  bed- 
from-brass;  you  can  see  for  yourself  how  that  dingy 
room  in  a  gloomy  West  Side  tenement  was  fast  be- 
coming "  Home  " — a  home  part  Russian  and  yet  all 
American.  But  quite  wonderful  to  the  two  of  them, 
who  stopped  unpacking  every  few  minutes  to  clasp 
their  arms  around  each  other's  necks.  For  you  must 
know  that  five  years  ago  Isadore  and  his  father  had 
come  over  from  Russia  to  earn  a  fortune  in  America. 

They  had  said  good-bye  to  every  one  with  highest 
hopes;  then,  like  men  who  follow  the  rainbow,  they 
set  out  to  find  the  pot  of  gold  which  every  Russian 
knows  is  waiting  on  the  streets  of  America  for  poor 
Jews  to  gather.  But  in  five  long  years  Isadore  had 
never  fovmd  that  pot  of  gold;  all  day  long  he  had 
worked  in  a  factory,  carrying  things.  Things  too 
heavy  for  a  little  fellow  like  himself.  But  they 
needed  the  money,  he  and  his  father;  was  there  not 
a  little  mother  way  across  the  sea  in  Russia?  Not 
to  mention  the  small  twins,  and  a  sister  or  two  ? 

Yet  after  three  years  of  working  his  father  had 
been  killed  in  a  factory  accident,  and  Isadore  asked 
some  one  to  write  home  to  Russia  about  it — for  Isa- 
dore himself  could  neither  read  nor  write.  Neither 
could  his  mother,  but  the  Rabbi  read  the  letter  to 
her;  and  she  wailed  loudly  every  night  because  she 
was  a  widow.  And  she  gave  up  all  hope  of  seeing 
Isadore  again. 


THE  LAND  OP  THE  POT  OF  GOLD   19 

But  Isadora  had  no  smallest  doubts  himself.  Was 
he  not  working  day  and  night,  saving  those  too-slow 
American  dimes  and  quarters  and  dollars  ?  For  two 
years  more  he  looked  exactly  like  some  little  gnome, 
some  weazened  queer  old  man  with  a  bent  back  and 
a  screwed-up  face.  Then  we  met  him!  Or  rather, 
SHE  met  him — that  wonderful  Miss  Missionary  of 
ours,  who  saw  this  absurd  young-old  boy  gazing  and 
gazing  and  gazing  into  the  window  of  a  second-hand 
store  where  old  furniture  was  displayed.  He  was 
gazing  when  she  went  in  to  pay  a  certain  visit, 
near  by ;  and  half  an  hour  later,  when  she  came  out, 
he  was  still  there — gazing.  You  can  imagine  she 
was  curious  to  know  what  could  possibly  fascinate  a 
boy  about  such  shabby,  scratched,  dilapidated  furni- 
ture. So  presently  through  his  day-dream  Isadora 
heard  some  one  saying :  "  I  choose  the  chair  with  the 
spindly  legs  for  mine !    Which  do  you  choose  ?  " 

Just  as  if  it  were  some  sort  of  game  that  they  had 
been  playing  often  and  often  before,  you  know.  In- 
stead of  which  Isadore  knew  she  was  a  perfect 
stranger.  But  that  made  no  difference,  somehow, 
for  he  answered  with  a  most  prodigious  sigh:  "I 
chooses  the  bed-f rom-brass,  Liddy ! " 

"But  what  will  you  ever  do  with  it?"  the  lady 
asked. 

"  There  will  be  families  to  make  sleepings  on  it," 
Isadore  exclaimed,  waving  his  dirty  hands  like  some 
magician  used  to  summoning  things  out  of  thin  air. 
"  There  will  be  a  mother,  and  some  twins,  two  sis- 
ters, and  me!" 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  the  friendly  lady,  with  her  eyes 


20  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

like  stars.  "  I  think  we  ought  to  be  friends,  young 
man!  Really  I  do,  for  I  live  in  a  place  called  a 
Center  where  we  can  teach  you  how  to  make  things 
for  twins  and  for  a  little  mother  from  Russia.  Sup- 
pose you  come  over." 

Isadore  went. 

He  went  often. 

He  loved  it! 

He  loved  every  inch  of  that  Christian  Center  from 
the  roof  to  the  cellar.  He  loved  the  games.  He 
loved  the  clubs.  He  loved  the  classes.  He  loved 
the  Bible  stories.  He  loved  the  things  he  learned  to 
make.  There  were  not  nights  enough  in  the  week 
for  all  the  new  things  Isadore  wanted  to  do.  He 
suddenly  loved  everything  American.  And  every- 
thing Christian,  too.  He  even  found  that  if  you 
saved  money  in  a  bank  it  gathered  something  called 
"  interest,"  and  grew  into  more  money  before  you 
knew  it !  If  he  had  only  known  of  banks  long  years 
before,  his  dimes  and  dollars  could  have  filled  his  pot 
of  gold  much  faster,  but  there  had  been  no  one  to  tell 
him  anything.  Policemen  to  keep  him  from  loiter- 
ing on  street-corners,  landlords  to  make  him  pay  his 
rent,  bosses  to  make  him  work  harder,  storekeepers 
to  cheat  him-^poor,  stupid  Isadore;  but  no  one  on 
the  streets  of  America  had  ever  started  in  to  make 
those  streets  the  foot  of  the  rainbow  to  an  ugly  little 
fellow  looking  for  a  pot  of  gold.  No  one,  that  is, 
untU  our  missionary  came  along. 

Do  you  wonder  Isadore  loved  her?  He  told  her 
everything.  And  they  planned  deep  plans.  Was  his 
pot  of  gold  full  enough  yet  to  send  for  the  little 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  POT  OF  GOLD      21 

mother  and  the  wee  twins?  No,  she  feared  not. 
So  he  worked  and  saved,  worked  and  saved,  until 
one  glorious  day  she  added  up  his  bank  account. 
"  Isadore,  there's  enough  for  the  trip,  and  enough 
for  a  bed  and  a  chair  and  a  table.  And  I  will  start 
sewing  you  some  curtains  this  very  day.  So  write 
her  a  wonderful  letter,  then  we  will  go  to  the  post- 
office  to  send  a  money  order." 

So  the  little  peasant  woman  left  her  home.  With- 
out the  twins,  however, — she  could  not  picture  Isa- 
dore adopting  twins,  and  left  them  with  a  married 
daughter.  But  Isadore,  she  found,  would  have  been 
equal  even  to  twins;  for  five  years  had  made  a  man 
of  him,  some  one  very  wise  about  strange  persons 
called  George  Washington  and  Abraham  Lincoln. 
And  even  if  America  did  not  have  pots  of  gold  at 
intervals  along  the  street,  at  least  there  were  good 
ladies  to  watch  out  for  lonely  boys.  She  longed  to 
see  this  gracious  unknown  lady. 

You  may  be  sure  Isadore  displayed  her  with  pride. 
"  Look,  mother,  look !  "  he  cried.  "  See — what  did 
I  tell  you  ?  Hats  on  her  head,  coats  on  her  back,  but 
ear-rings  and  shawls,  no!  That's  how  you  should 
look  quick.     I  buy  you  things." 

Miss  Missionary  saw  a  strange,  unhappy  look 
flicker  in  the  mother's  eyes.  "  Isadore,"  she  sug- 
gested, "  suppose  you  go  out  and  shop  while  we  talk 
together  alone."  And  when  he  had  gone  the  two 
women  sat  down  in  silence.  Then  the  missionary 
said,  "  You  must  not  mind  his  being  such  a  staunch 
American  boy.  He  wants  you  to  be  like  me  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.    But  you  must  take  your  own 


22  NEXT-DOOB  NEIGHBOES 

time.  The  outside  of  an  American  is  nothing  but  a 
shell ;  the  Lord  God  looks  upon  the  heart." 

The  little  Jewish  mother  smiled  through  her  tears. 
"Ah  me,"  she  sighed,  "  and  I  was  fixed  to  hate  you 
with  an  endless  hate  for  giving  my  boy  such  airs! 
But  I  have  a  love  on  you,  Miss  Hovey ;  you  make  me 
a  big  Thank- You  all  inside.  You  are  his  second 
mother." 

Then  Isadore  came  back  and  hung  a  little  Ameri- 
can flag  over  the  door.  "  See,  I  bought  our  rainbow, 
mother !  "  he  laughed,  saluting  it. 

"  Like  all  rainbows,  it's  a  promise  of  better  times 
ahead,"  prophesied  Miss  Missionary,  as  they  all 
drank  coffee  together,  made  in  the  old  samovar  from 
Russia — at  the  foot  of  Isadore's  red,  white  and  blue 
rainbow. 


II 

MOSES  AARON  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  NAME 

HIS  mother  thought  his  name  was  beautiful. 
More  beautiful  than  any  of  her  other  chil- 
dren had,  for  Isaac  was  always  being 
shortened  up  to  Iky,  and  Rebekah  Rachel  to  Becky; 
but  Moses  Aaron  was  so  easy  to  say  in  one  piece  that 
nobody  ever  tried  to  shorten  him  up  into  nicknames. 
Perhaps  there  was  no  very  good  way  to  do  it ! 

But  Moses  Aaron  simply  hated  his  name :  "  Moses 
Aaron  Jacobstein,"  he  would  complain,  "  aw,  say, 
everybodies  can  know  just  what  I  have  been  before 
they  sees  me — '  Sheeny !  Sheeny!'  they  calls  on  me!" 

"  You  should  to  be  ashamed,"  Iky  said  lazily ;  "  tell 
them  you  got  an  uncle  what  has  the  biggest  second- 
hand store  in  town!  What  more  can  they  want? 
And  ain't  you  got  an  uncle  what  is  a  rabbi,  too? 
Say,  you're  hard  to  please."  But  then  Isaac  was  al- 
most too  easily  pleased;  so  one  day  Moses  Aaron 
made  up  his  mind  that  if  no  one  else  had  proper 
pride  about  names  he  would  start  out  and  get  a 
whole  new  set  by  himself. 

You  should  have  seen  him  prowling  the  streets  and 
reading  sign-boards.  But  in  his  part  of  town  there 
were  far  too  many  other  Jews,  and  the  names  on  the 
stores  were  much  too  familiar.    So  he  absent-mind- 

23 


24  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

edly  watched  a  policeman  out  in  the  middle  of  some 
very  lively  traffic. 

Suddenly  he  wondered  what  the  policeman's  name 
was,  and  with  tremendous  courage  he  skipped  out  to 
the  little  island  of  safety  and  shouted :  "  Say,  Mister 
Cop,  what  you  got  in  the  way  of  a  name,  huh  ?  " 

You  might  suppose  a  policeman  would  refuse  to 
answer  any  one  so  very  small,  but  Pat  O'Flannigan 
was  not  the  top-lofty  sort  of  person.  He  squinted 
down  at  the  little  fellow  and  shouted  back  throu^ 
the  uproar,  "  Patrick  Murphy  O'Flannigan,  at  your 
service,  sir ! "  And  instantly  Moses  Aaron  knew  his 
search  was  ended:  the  new  name  was  found! 
O'Flannigan — what  a  nice  mouth-filling  American 
name,  especially  with  Patrick  and  Murphy  before  it. 

So  that  afternoon  at  the  House-Around-the-Cor- 
ner  (our  Christian  Center)  he  went  boldly  up  to  the 
golden-haired  lady  in  charge.  "  Please,"  he  began, 
"  I  must  make  you  a  correction  on  my  name.  I  got 
a  different  one  from  what  you  call  me,  and  I  should 
like  to  be  called  by  it." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  agreed  Miss  Golden  Hair  in- 
stantly, "  how  horrid  of  me  to  be  calling  you  wrong. 
What  is  it,  Moses  Aaron  ?  " 

Moses  Aaron  groaned:  "Aw,  don't  never  say  that 
no  more;  Patrick  Murphy  O'Flannigan  is  the  name 
you  should  to  call  me,  so  you  please." 

Miss  Golden  Hair  stared.  "  Oh,  but — but — why, 
Moses  Aaron,  that's  an  Irish  name,  and  you  aren't 
Irish,  surely ! " 

Moses  Aaron  stood  on  one  foot  nervously.  "  You 
should  to  know  I  am  American,  and  that's  my  Amer- 


MOSES  AAEON  IN  SEAECH  OF  A  NAME    25 

ican  name.  All  of  us  is  American  in  my  family 
from  now  on  and  forever  more." 

"  Then  have  we  the  names  of  Isaac  and  Rebekah 
Rachel  correctly  on  our  record  book?"  Miss  Golden 
Hair  asked,  opening  the  big  book  and  dipping  her 
pen  in  the  ink. 

Now  Moses  Aaron  was  not  prepared  to  name  the 
rest  of  the  family,  offhand,  in  this  sudden  fashion, — 
but  he  knew  it  must  be  now  or  never;  so  in  a  thin, 
scared  voice  he  finally  heard  himself  saying,"  You 
see,  we  got  two  full  sets  of  names,  and  O'Flannigan 
is  the  American  set.     Now  Iky,  he  ain't  really  Isaac 

at  all,  his  American  name  is — er — er "  and  his 

eyes  wandered  around  the  room  in  a  wild  sort  of 
way  until  they  rested  on  a  picture  on  the  wall,  where 
a  well-known  American  face  gazed  kindly  at  him, 
"  Iky's  real  name  is  George  Washington  O'Flanni- 
gan.'; 

Miss  Golden  Hair  wrote  it  down  very  neatly  and 
correctly  in  the  record  book,  so  that  it  seemed  the 
easiest  way  in  the  world  to  stop  being  a  Jew.  Then 
very  quietly  she  said,  "And  now,  what  is  Rebekah 
Rachel's  name  ? " 

Poor  Moses  Aaron !  He  was  all  pins  and  needles, 
wondering  what  on  earth  to  name  poor  Rebekah 
Rachel,  something  good  enough  to  last  forever.  A 
frantic  procession  of  Marys,  Marthas,  Ruths,  Janes 
and  Mabels  scurried  through  his  brain,  but  they  had 
already  been  taken  by  somebody  else  at  the  Center, 
and  he  could  not  have  Rebekah  Rachel  getting  mixed 
up  with  some  one  undesirable.  Suddenly  the  very 
plan  popped  into  his    mind  and  selected  his  two  fa- 


26  KEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

vorite  flowers.  "  Violet  Rose  O'Flannigan,"  he  said 
proudly,  and  thought  it  altogether  beautiful. 

Even  Miss  Golden  Hair  seemed  impressed,  for  she 
held  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  was  unable  to 
speak!  So  Moses  Aaron  hurried  home,  anxious  to 
prepare  Iky  and  Becky  for  the  change,  so  they  woiJd 
recognize  themselves. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  climbing  the  steps  of  the 
rickety  tenement  where  the  Jacobsteins  lived  that  he 
began  to  quake  in  his  boots.  For  perhaps  Iky  and 
Becky  would  not  like  it.    And  they  didn't ! 

"  Why  for  should  I  be  George  Washington  O'Flan- 
nigan ?  "  grunted  Iky  crossly,  "Aw,  say,  you  makes 
me  sick ! " 

As  for  the  new  Violet  Rose,  she  sniffed  in  disgust. 
"  You  makes  me  to  sound  like  sachet  powders,"  she 
complained.  "  I  like  I  should  rather  be  Rebekah 
Rachel.  What  will  the  father  be  saying  when  he 
finds  you  would  be  wishing  Krisht  (Christian) 
names  on  us  ?  " 

Moses  Aaron  was  soon  to  find  out  exactly  what 
his  father  felt,  for  very  unfortunately  he  had  met 
Miss  Golden  Hair  on  the  street  and  she  had  said, 
"  Good-evening,  Mr.  O'Flannigan." 

Mr.  Jacobstein  bowed  politely.  "I  makes  you  a 
correction,  Lady,"  he  begged,  "  you  have  been  made 
a  forgetting  that  I  should  to  be  named  Mr.  Jacob- 
stein." 

Miss  Golden  Hair  flushed.  "Oh,  but  I  under- 
stood from  Moses  Aaron  that  you  had  all  changed 
your  names.'' 

"  What  ? "    roared    Papa    Jacobstein,    completely 


MOSES  AAEON  IN  SEAEOH  OP  A  NAME   27 

thunderstruck.  So  Miss  Golden  Hair  simply  had  to 
explain,  although  she  now  saw  that  poor  Moses 
Aaron  had  evidently  had  a  scheme  all  his  own. 

So  presently  Moses  Aaron  learned  exactly  what 
his  father  thought  about  having  a  perfectly  good 
Jewish  family  turn  into  Patricks  and  Georges  and 
Violet  Roses.  After  a  miserable  half-hour  Moses 
Aaron  was  sent  to  bed  without  supper,  and  his 
mother  crept  in  to  comfort  him. 

"  This  is  what  comes  of  going  with  Krishts,  mine 
son,"  she  whispered ;  "  you  should  to  keep  away. 
Krishts  make  no  good  with  nobody." 

Moses  Aaron  gallantly  lifted  his  aching  head  from 
the  pillow.  "  I  tells  you  somethings,"  he  confided ; 
"you  can't  for  to  have  a  mad  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
when  all  the  time  He's  got  such  loving  feelings  on  us. 
Nobody  shan't  stop  me  from  being  an  American 
Krisht,  not  never ! " 

"  Oh  hush  you,  mine  little  Moses  Aaron,"  she 
begged,  "  or  Father  will  make  you  more  whippings." 

The  next  day  after  school  Moses  Aaron  hurried  to 
the  House-Around-the-Corner.  The  Golden-haired 
Lady  looked  up,  smiling.  "  Good-afternoon,  Pat- 
rick," she  said  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way. 

Moses  Aaron  adored  her  for  it,  for  he  knew  that 
she  knew  from  his  father  that  was  not  his  name  at 
all.    Yet  she  was  pretending  for  his  sake ! 

"I  makes  you  a  correction,"  he  said;  "you  must 
name  me  Moses  Aaron.  My  father  makes  me  a 
whipping  for  being  Patrick.  But  you  should  to 
know  I  am  an  American  Krisht  in  my  heart." 

Miss  Golden  Hair  placed  a  chair  opposite  hers* 


28  NEXT  DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

"  Sit  down,  Moses  Aaron,"  she  begged,  "  and  let's 
talk  about  names.  They  really  don't  matter  much, 
you  know,  but  I  honestly  love  yours." 

"  Aw  say !  "  groaned  Moses  Aaron. 

"But  I  do!"  she  insisted,  "  for  I  remember  that 
it  was  Moses  and  Aaron  who  led  the  children  of  Is- 
rael away  from  the  land  where  they  were  badly 
treated  and  unhappy  into  the  Promised  Land.  It 
was  Moses  and  Aaron  who  explained  to  them  what 
the  Lord  God  wanted  them  to  do  and  be  and  say.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  what  Moses  and  Aaron  did,  there 
might  not  have  been  any  little  town  of  Bethlehem 
where  Jesus  Christ  would  be  born!  There  might 
not  be  ten  commandments  brought  down  from  the 
mountain  to  teach  us  how  to  be  safe  and  good ;  there 
might  not  be  lots  of  other  Christian  things  if  Moses 
and  Aaron  had  hated  their  names  and  disobeyed 
God.  So  I  can't  see  why  you  can't  just  love  to  keep 
on  being  Moses  Aaron;  it's  ever  and  ever  so  much 
finer  than  Patrick." 

"  Aw,  but  it  shows  I'm  a  Sheeny.    I  hate  it !  " 

"  But  Jesus  Christ  was  born  a  Jew,  yet  He  lived  so 
marvellously  that  people  never  stop  nowadays  to  re- 
member what  He  was,  only  what  He  did!  Listen, — 
sometimes  people  called  America  the  Promised  Land, 
full  of  liberty  and  freedom  and  opportunities. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  pretend  you  were  another 
Moses  appointed  by  God  to  lead  your  family  into  a 
happy  understanding  of  these  best  things  in  Amer- 
ica?" 

Moses  Aaron  smiled.  "When  you  says  it  like  I 
was  a  hero,  then  I  can  to  try  anything!  " 


THE    POLES 

III 

HOP-O'-MY-THUMB 

AT  first  it  had  really  been  fun.  Certainly 
none  of  them  had  objected  to  leaving  their 
stuffy  crowded  room  in  the  dingy  tenement 
back  in  the  noisy  street.  For  it  had  been  sizzling 
there  in  the  hot  July  days.  And  here  they  were  rid- 
ing in  a  thing  called  a  train  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives,  and  a  cross  sort  of  man  had  paid  their  fare. 
And  imagine  such  a  long,  long  ride  costing  them 
nothing.  That  alone  was  pleasant.  Then,  after 
hours  of  riding,  the  Cross  Man  bundled  them  out  of 
the  train  at  a  very  small  station,  set  in  the  midst  of 
surprisingly  green  country.  Then  he  crowded  them 
into  a  wagon.  Somebody  shouted  "  G'dap !  g'dap !  " 
and  two  horses  began  pulling  along  a  roadway  where 
green  trees  twinkled  their  cool  leaves  at  the  excited 
family. 

As  usual  It  was  Jakobaa  who  spoke  for  all  the 
other  tongue-tied  brothers  and  sisters.  "  See,  mut- 
ter, It  looks  like  it  did  by  the  park  that  time  when  we 
went  there;  see — much  greenness  all  over  every- 
thing." And  she  waved  her  thin  arms  in  a  thrilly 
fashion. 

29 


30  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

"And  it  didn't  cost  us  nothing  for  getting  here — 
my,  my ! " 

As  for  the  littlest  member  of  the  family,  he  blinked 
at  the  twinkling  leaves  in  the  friendliest  fashion,  and 
meant  to  make  up  a  story  about  them  in  the  middle 
of  the  bouncing  cart-ride,  but  he  fell  sound  asleep. 
The  next  thing  he  knew  it  was  time  to  go  to  work, 
for  they  reached  the  place  where  the  Cross  Man  was 
bringing  them.  Not  that  this  littlest  member  of  the 
family  was  to  work  himself,  of  course,  for  he  was 
only  about  as  big  as  a  minute — or  rather  two  minutes 
at  the  very  most.  But  when  everybody  else  was 
starting  out  with  shiny  tin  pails,  he  cried  long  and 
lustily  because  he  had  no  pail  for  his  very  own.  And 
the  Cross  Man  surprisingly  let  him  have  one.  I  am 
afraid  he  knew  that  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  could  pick 
beans  as  well  as  Jakobaa  or  any  of  the  others.  For 
there  was  really  nothing  to  it — hop  o'  my  thumb,  and 
a  slender  green  bean-pod  fell  plop  into  the  shiny  tin 
pail.  The  very  little  fellow  thought  the  plop  had  a 
very  jolly  sound,  and  he  decided  to  run  a  race  with 
Jakobaa  to  see  which  of  them  could  fill  a  pail  quicker. 
But,  of  course,  her  hops  of  the  thumb  were  cleverer 
and  surer  than  his,  and  he  had  far  too  dreamy  a  way 
of  sitting  down  at  the  foot  of  the  towering  bean-stalk 
to  think  things  over,  so  that  his  pail  was  not  filled  to 
the  brim  that  first  day. 

But  in  the  evening  when  the  Cross  Man  weighed  it 
he  said  to  the  proud  parents,  "  He's  one  fine  little 
picker,  that  boy.  You  keep  poking  him  up  and  he'll 
be  earning  money  for  you,  the  first  thing  you  know." 

Every  one  laughed  long  and  hard ;  they  had  never 


HOP-O'-MY-THUMB  81 

dreamed  that  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  could  ever  earn 
money.  He  was  such  a  comical,  dreamy  little  chap, 
about  as  big  as  a  minute — well,  two  minutes  at  the 
most. 

None  of  them  liked  their  new  home  up  in  the  loft 
of  a  ramshackle  barn,  where  beds  were  only  empty 
bins  with  sacks  of  hay  for  mattresses.  Four  other 
families  slept  up  there,  too,  and  because  every  one 
was  tired  from  a  hard  day's  work  at  picking  beans  in 
the  broiling  sun,  there  was  much  quarrelling  in  the 
air.  Whereupon  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  cried  himself 
to  sleep.  Perhaps,  after  all,  that  free  ride  into  the 
country  wasn't  going  to  be  all  pleasure ! 

And  the  next  day  he  was  sure  of  it.  For  instead 
of  his  begging  for  a  shiny  tin  pail,  it  was  his  mother 
who  thrust  it  into  his  hands,  saying,  "  Now  hustle, 
little  one,  hustle.  Pick  so  many  beans  as  the  big 
Jakobaa.    Hustle,  hustle ! " 

So  he  hustled !  But  the  sun  beat  down  on  his  little 
back  and  the  shiny  tin  pail  sparkled — sparkled.  Hop- 
o'-My-Thumb  looked  over  his  shoulders  to  be  sure 
that  no  one  was  looking,  then  he  slumped  wearily 
down  beside  a  bean-stalk  and  nodded  his  head  once 
— ^nodded  it  twice — nodded  it  three  times. 

Boom !  boom !  he  seemed  to  be  hearing  giants ;  and 
then  he  found  himself  being  shaken  wide-awake  by 
the  Cross  Man  who  had  paid  their  fare  to  the  bean- 
farm. 

"  You  lazy  kid,  pick ! "  shouted  this  cross  person. 
"  Hurry  up  now,  or  I'll  chuck  you  into  the  well  to 
drown." 

Which  sounded  highly  unpleasant.     So  after  that 


32  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

it  was  Hop-o'-My-Thumb !  Hop-o'-My-Thumb ! 
Hop-o'-My-Thumb !  from  morning  till  night.  And 
at  night  his  parents  tried  to  show  him  off  to  the  other 
parents  up  in  the  barn-loft — tried  to  make  him  dance 
the  quaint  little  clog-dance  such  as  children  danced 
away  over  the  sea  in  their  Old  Country.  Then  Hop- 
o'-My-Thumb  found  that  he  had  no  proper  stiffening 
left  in  his  legs  and  back;  he  just  crumpled  up  in  a 
heap  and  fell  asleep. 

Jakobaa  swooped  down  on  him  and  cradled  his 
head  in  her  arms.  "  Oh,  mutter,"  she  protested, 
"  he's  too  little  for  picking  the  beans." 

"  S-sh !  "  her  mother  hissed ;  "  he  should  do  very 
well  when  he's  used  to  it." 

So  you  are  to  make  a  little  picture  of  them  in  your 
mind's  eye  picking  away  for  dear  life  on  a  certain 
morning,  weeks  later,  when  an  automobile  came 
whizzing  along  the  roadway.  A  Friend  of  Ours  was 
driving  it,  and  as  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  figures 
moving  slowly  up  and  down  among  the  rows  of 
beans,  he  stopped  his  car,  saying  to  himself,  "  Um ; 
foreigners,  I  see.  Perhaps  I'd  best  go  and  have  a 
chat — right  in  my  line." 

So  he  filled  his  pockets  with  books  and  walked 
over  to  Jakobaa.  As  she  said  afterward,  "  Now 
wasn't  it  nice  he  picked  me  out  of  all  the  many  other 
pickers?"  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  anybody  would 
pick  out  Jakobaa,  she  was  so  glowingly  and  thrill- 
ingly  alive,  even  after  hours  and  hours  of  stooping 
over  beans  in  sizzling  sunshine. 

This  Friend  of  Ours  smiled  at  her  and  said, 
"Speak  English,  sister?" 


HOP-O'-MY-THUMB  33 

"  Sure,"  cried  Jakobaa  proudly,  "  me  speak  it  just 
fine;  but  the  others,  not  so  good." 

"  I  have  a  book  that  speaks  your  language,"  said 
Our  Friend,  reaching  in  his  left-hand  pocket.  Then 
in  her  own  foreign  tongue,  which  you  and  I  would 
not  understand,  he  read  these  familiar  words:  "And 
Jesus  said,  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

Jakobaa  nodded  enthusiastically.  "  Oh,  that 
sounds  fine,  mister.  How  I  wish  your  Mr.  Jesus 
could  say  that  to  me  little  brudder.  Come,  I  shows 
you.  Stoop  down — see,  he  lie  asleep  there  under  the 
bean-stalk.  And  should  the  cross  padrone  find  him 
— ach !  he  would  shake  him  that  he  must  go  work  yet 
once  more." 

"  But  he's  far  too  little  to  work,"  Our  Friend  said 
sternly,  and  picked  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  up  in  his 
arms.  The  sleepy  little  fellow  curled  there  comfort- 
ably, and  never  dreamed  that  it  was  almost  as  if  the 
Lord  Jesus  Himself  had  walked  into  the  field  to  save 
him.  For  this  Friend  of  Ours — this  man  who  ran 
an  automobile  and  sold  Bibles  by  the  wayside,  this 
Colporter — ^had  made  up  his  mind  to  save  little  Hop- 
o'-My-Thumb.  There  was  a  very  stormy  scene  with 
the  mother  and  father,  though  Jakobaa  stood  by 
pleading  for  Hop-o'-My-Thumb. 

It  seemed  that  the  Colporter  knew  a  good  family 
living  near  by — oh,  about  three  miles  off — who 
would  love  to  keep  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  all  summer 
long.  "  For  I  suppose  you  will  be  here  a  good  long 
time?" 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Jakobaa,  "  we  goes  to  tomatoes 


34  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

next,  and  then  the  padrone  say  we  must  go  to  corn. 
Ach,  me  no  like  vegetables.  No  good !  It  would  be 
more  better  for  little  brudder  to  make  playings." 

So  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  was  taken  away  to  the 
near-by  Friendly  Farm,  where  the  cows  mooed 
cheerfully  to  him,  and  the  buttercups  nodded  to  him, 
and  on  Sundays  he  always  saw  his  own  family,  for 
his  farmer  friend  would  drive  him  over,  and  Jakobaa 
was  amazed  at  his  plump  cheeks. 

"  He  ain't  so  little  no  more,"  she  said. 

"  Und  say,  Jaky,"  he  gurgled  contentedly,  "  on  dat 
farm  de  flowers  grows  mit  colors  all  over  dem,  from 
yellow,  from  pink,  from  blue ;  und  nobody  slaps  you 
as  dey  does  by  de  parks  und  says  '  You  dassn't  to 
pick  dem.'     It's  like  it  is  by  heaven,  I  guess ! " 

But  the  nicest  part  of  the  story  is  about  the  Bible 
which  the  Colporter  left  behind  him  when  he  took 
Hop-o'-My-Thumb  away.  On  summer  evenings 
when  the  weary  foreign  families  had  finished  picking 
beans,  after  supper  Jakobaa  would  spell  out  the  Bible 
stories  until  the  light  of  the  sun  disappeared  and  it 
was  time  to  crawl  up  to  the  loft  and  sleep  on  sacks  of 
hay.  Again  and  again  it  seemed  to  Jakobaa  as  if  the 
Lord  Jesus  Himself  came  near  her  as  she  was  falling 
asleep,  so  dearly  did  she  love  the  stories  about  Him. 

Then  finally  the  beans  were  all  picked,  and  they 
moved  to  the  tomato  farm.  Then  weeks  later  there 
was  com  to  gather,  then  squashes.  And  after  the 
work  was  all  done  the  padrone  sent  them  back  to  the 
city.  But  it  was  not  at  all  the  same  family  that  had 
come  with  him  early  in  July.  For  Hop-o'-My- 
Thumb  was  a  chunky,  talkative  little  person,  who  in- 


HOP-O'-MY-THUMB  85 

sisted  on  saying  his  prayer  every  evening  at  his 
mother's  knee,  just  as  the  farmer's  wife  had  taught 
him. 

"  What  nonsense  is  this  ? "  thought  the  startled 
mother. 

But  Jakobaa  loved  it. 

"  I  too  will  make  a  prayer  to  the  Lord  Jesus  each 
evening,"  she  said  to  her  mother. 

Whereupon  the  other  brothers  and  sisters  looked 
very  much  left  out.  So  Jakobaa  smiled:  "  See,  the 
side  of  the  bed  is  long.  We  will  kneel  side  by  side 
for  this  prayer,  und  say  the  words  what  is  in  our 
hearts." 

So  when  our  missionary  came  to  call,  she  was  as- 
tonished at  the  family.  "  I  think,"  said  Jakobaa, 
smiling,  "  that  vegetables  might  be  much  worser. 
Lady!  The  cross  padrone,  he  no  good,  but  that 
Bible  peddler — say ! " 


IV 

"A  HAT  FOR  THE  LAUNDRESS,  AND— 
SOMETHING  ELSE!" 

MRS.  STANDISH  had  her  own  idea  about 
laundresses:  they  were  women  who 
washed  and  ironed  your  clothes  down  in 
the  cellar,  they  cost  you  $3.60  a  day,  and  you  gave 
them  a  Christmas  basket  in  December.  That  was  as 
far  as  her  thought  about  them  ever  went,  until  No- 
vember, 1920,  when  Prissy  took  a  hand. 

For  Prissy's  mother  "  washed  "  for  Mrs.  Standish 
every  Monday  as  regularly  as  the  day  came  around, 
until  one  Monday  when  she  was  sick — much  too  sick 
to  raise  her  head  from  the  pillow.  So  Prissy  rushed 
the  other  children  off  to  school,  and  even  tried  to  find 
some  one  to  go  in  her  mother's  place  to  wash  for 
Mrs.  Standish ;  but,  as  all  the  world  knows,  Monday 
is  a  day  when  laundresses  are  not  sitting  around  do- 
ing nothing — so  there  was  no  one  to  be  found. 
Therefore  Prissy  brushed  her  hair  neatly  and  wasted 
five  minutes  laboriously  writing  something  on  little 
pieces  of  paper.  Over  and  over  she  did  it,  but  it 
never  came  out  right,  so  finally  she  took  the  best  of 
the  lot  and  set  off  for  the  Standish  home.  For  a 
long  time  she  had  had  things  to  say  to  the  Lady  of 
That  House — things  that  could  not  be  trusted 
through  a  telephone  at  a  corner  drug-store. 

36 


"  A  HAT  FOE  THE  LAUNDEESS  "        37 

Mrs.  Standish's  house  was  the  prettiest  one  on 
Pleasant  Street,  and  as  Prissy  rang  the  door-bell  she 
loved  to  think  it  was  her  own  mother  who  kept  the 
window  curtains  so  white  and  crispy.  Yet  all  the 
time  her  heart  was  pitty-patting  against  the  yoke  of 
her  calico  dress;  and  when  the  door  opened  she 
spoke  to  the  maid  in  what  can  best  be  described  as  an 
"  ingrowing  "  voice. 

"  I  would  have  speech  mit  Mrs.  Standish,"  she 
said,  bobbing  her  head  politely,  "  if  you  should  to 
give  her  my  calling-card,"  and  she  handed  in  her 
little  square  of  ruled  paper. 

One  regrets  to  state  that  the  maid  snickered  at 
sight  of  its  inadequacy.  But  Prissy  looked  at  her 
sternly,  saying,  "  Sooner  she  gets  the  card,  she  will  to 
see  me ! "  And  she  walked  bravely  indoors,  as  if 
she  had  come  hundreds  of  times  before. 

Up-stairs,  Mrs.  Standish  took  the  piece  of  paper 
and  read :  "  Miss  Priscilla  Alden  Sin-,"  and,  turning 
it  over,  found  the  ending  on  the  other  side :  "-oski." 
She  carried  the  paper  down  to  the  library,  where 
Prissy  rose  and  bowed. 

"My  mother,  she  couldn't  to  come  for  washings 
to-day.  She's  got  a  hot  all  over  her,  but  sooner  I 
tucks  her  back  in  bed  she  makes  sleepings.  It  is  bet- 
ter so,  yes  ?  " 

Mrs.  Standish  waved  the  piece  of  paper.  "And  is 
this  your  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

Prissy  nodded.  "  I  am  too  long  a  name  to  fit  on 
one  side  of  the  card — Priscilla  Alden  SinoskI,  I  am. 
And  I  thought  you  should  to  know  that  we  had  come 
over,  too." 


88  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

"Come  over?"  Mrs.  Standish  repeated,  rather 
puzzled ;  "  come  over  where  ?  " 

"  Why  to  America !  "  Prissy  said,  "  in  boats,  like 
Myles  Standish  done.  Didn't  you  to  remember  he 
was  among  the  first  immigrants  on  America  ?  " 

"Immigrant?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Standish.  "  Why,  my 
dear  child,  you're  crazy !  If  my  husband  could  hear 
you  calling  his  ancestors  immigrants " 

Prissy  looked  at  her  soothingly.  "  Oh,  lady,  it 
might  be  worser,  much  worser.  Why,  I  am  immi- 
grant myself,  didn't  you  know?  You  tell  Mr.  Stand- 
ish it's  all  right  when  you  get  used  to  it.  Only  we 
come  from  Poland,  not  England." 

Mrs.  Standish  swished  her  skirts.  "  But,  my  dear, 
we've  been  Americans  300  years  before  you  ever  left 
Poland." 

Prissy  clutched  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  said  the 
thing  she  had  come  to  say :  "  But  I  am  Americans, 
too,  Mrs,  Standish,  und  I  want  you  should  be  Ameri- 
cans with  my  mother  more  harder.  She  got  a  big 
lonely  sooner  she  goes  out  to  do  washings.  All  day 
long  she  is  down  in  American  cellars :  she  makes  fine 
washings  on  American  clothes  und  she  eats  Ameri- 
can foods — but  she  ain't  got  no  likings  for  America, 
und  I  want  she  should  be  Americans  as  proud  as  I 
am.  All  times  she  got  only  a  big  hate.  Mrs.  Stand- 
ish, lady,  you  are  the  politest  Americans  she  knows, 
so  could  you  be  more  American  mit  her,  please  ?  " 

Mrs.  Standish  simply  stared.  "  Well,  of  all 
things ! "  she  gasped.  "  What  a  comical  child  you 
are,  Priscilla  Alden  Sinoski.  Tell  me,  how  did  you 
get  the  first  part  of  your  name  ?  " 


"A  HAT  FOR  THE  LAUNDEESS  "        39 

Prissy  sparkled  like  a  case  of  lovely  jewels. 
**  Sooner  I  comes  on  America  we  live  in  a  town 
where  they  got  a  place  called  a  Christian  Center. 
Come  Thanksgiving  Day  they  gives  a  party  on  every- 
bodies  in  the  neighborhood,  und  they  reads  a  poem 
by  a  gentlemans  named  Longfellow,  und  the  children 
were  dressed  up  for  actings  the  poem.  Und  sud- 
denly there  ain't  nobody  for  being  Priscilla.  *  Where 
have  she  went  ? '  they  keep  saying,  und  I  was  chose, 
quick !  You  should  to  see  me,  lady,  mit  a  gray  dress 
und  a  big  white  hanky  round  my  neck  like  it  was  a 
shawl,  und  buckles-from-silver  on  my  shoes,  und  a 
little  white  bonnet- from-cotton  on  my  head.  Und 
John  Alden  und  Myles  Standish  both  asked  me  for 
being  their  wife.  Me,  mind  you !  Well,  I  most  died, 
from  happy !  So  I  ain't  never  had  no  lonely  in 
America  since  I  learnt  how  those  first  Americans 
was  immigrants  just  like  me,  und  made  sailings  away 
from  their  old  country  for  finding  liberty  und  safety 
just  like  why  we  left  Poland.  I  made  myself  be 
named  Priscilla  Alden  ever  since." 

"  Was  that  in  this  city  ?  "  Mrs.  Standish  asked. 

"  But  no,"  sighed  Prissy,  "  that  was  before  my  fa- 
ther began  dying.  When  he  finally  did  it,  then  we 
comes  on  this  here  town  so  my  big  bruder  could  do 
workings  in  a  factory.  My  next-to-the-big  bruder, 
he  got  himself  made  soldier  for  fightings  in  your 
war,  und  he  died.  In  France,  that  was.  So  my 
mother  she  don't  get  no  likings  for  America  like  she 
should.  For  my  big  bruder  he  talk  all  times  about 
moneys ;  but  say,  you  should  see  the  kids!  We  play 
Prissy  Alden  all  times  what  I  ain't  working.     Jan, 


40  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

he's  John  Alden,  und  Nicky,  he's  Myles  Standish. 
We  play  coming  over — in  the  tub,  you  know;  und 
I've  learned  them  well  that  America's  the  land  what 
makes  immigrants  into  Americans,  sooner  they  loves 
it." 

Mrs.  Standish  found  herself  saying,  "  Priscilla, 
just  what  would  you  like  me  to  do  ?  " 

Prissy  beamed  as  if  all  the  wishes  In  the  world 
were  coming  true.  "  Oh,  please,  I  want  you  should 
buy  my  mother  a  hat-f rom-velvet ;  here's  the  money 
all  saved,"  and  Prissy  untied  a  corner  of  her  hand- 
,  kerchief,  displaying  three  crumpled  dollar  bills.  "  I 
want  you  should  please  get  it  a  stylish  hat,  mit  feath- 
ers to  wave  on  top.  All  times  she  wears  shawl  on 
her  head  like  she  never  get  over  being  immigrant. 
Come  Thanksgiving  Day  I  have  give  my  word  how 
my  mother  und  the  kid  should  sit  in  your  church  und 
make  thanks  to  God  for  giving  us  America." 

"  I'd  love  to  buy  the  hat,"  Mrs.  Standish  assured 
her,  "  and  now,  surely  you  want  something  yourself." 

Prissy  wriggled  uneasily.  "  It's  a  silly  something," 
she  sighed,  "  but  I  heard  tell  how  your  church  gives 
a  thing  called  a  pageant  come  Thanksgiving  Day,  for 
to  show  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  I  heard  tell 
how  the  children  in  the  Sunday-school  is  to  make 
actings,  und  oh — oh,  how  I  would  be  Prissy  Alden 
all  over  again." 

Mrs.  Standish  was  embarrassed.  "But,  Priscilla, 
in  a  little  New  England  town  like  this  so  many  of  us 
are  actually  descended  from  Pilgrims  that  this  pag- 
eant is  to  be  given  only  by  children  whose  ancestors 
came  over  in  the  Mayflower " 


"  A  HAT  FOR  THE  LAUNDRESS  "        41 

Prissy  interrupted  passionately.  "  But  ain't  I  said 
it,  We  come  over,  too,  lady !  We  ain't  been  born  300 
years  ago  to  make  sailings  on  the  Mayflozver,  but 
sooner  we  hears  of  America  we  come  in  a  big — ^yes, 
a  bigger,  quicker,  finer  boat  than  the  Mayflower, 
too." 

So  all  Mrs.  Standish  could  do  was  to  ask  the  com- 
mittee about  it,  and  a  woman  descended  from  Elder 
Brewster  said  enthusiastically,  "  Oh,  do  let's  have 
her !    Why,  she's  more  American  than  any  of  us ! " 

And  that's  how  it  happened  that  Prissy  of  Para- 
dise Alley  was  a  star  in  the  Pilgrims'  pageant  on 
Thanksgiving  Day  along  with  all  the  New  England 
children  from  Pleasant  Street.  Mrs.  Sinoski  sat  in 
the  very  front  row,  wearing  her  hat- from- velvet,  and 
one  could  see  for  oneself  that  the  "  lonely  "  seemed 
to  have  oozed  away.  For  she  had  suddenly  discov- 
ered that  once  upon  a  time  all  these  other  people  had 
been  new  in  America,  too.  A  little  matter  of  300 
years'  difference  in  time  simply  did  not  matter, 
Prissy  said.  And  surely  Prissy  must  know,  for  she 
had  been  a  father  and  a  mother  and  a  general  man- 
ager to  the  Sinoskis  for  a  good  many  years. 


THE  ITALIANS 


TIPTOE  TESSA  GOES   THROUGH  THE 
KEYHOLE 

THERE  was  a  window.  And  wonderful 
things  went  on  inside  it.  Singing  and 
laughing.  Stories,  too.  And  the  murmur 
of  many  voices  all  talking  at  once.  If  you  were  big 
.and  tall  you  could  look  right  in  the  window  to  see 
what  was  happening,  whereupon  you  hurried  along 
saying  to  yourself,  "  Dear  me,  I'm  late,  they've  be- 
gun already ! " 

But  Tessa  was  so  very,  very  little.  She  stood  on 
her  tiptoes  and  stretched  out  her  dear  little  neck,  but 
she  simply — could — not — reach — high  enough  to 
squint  through  the  glass.  It  was  very  provoking, 
and  a  lonesome  frown  sat  on  her  forehead. 

You  might  suppose  that  the  simplest  plan  would  be 
to  walk  right  in  the  door,  but  Tiptoe  Tessa  was  bash- 
ful. So  very  bashful  that  if  she  even  imagined  any 
one  was  looking  at  her,  she  hung  her  pretty  little 
head  and  tried  to  run  away.  So  she  never  even 
dreamed  of  bursting  in,  uninvited,  among  a  host  of 
unknown  people  in  a  big  strange  wonderful  building. 
But  one  day  she  ventured  as  far  as  the  door,  and — 
discovered  the  keyhole.     After  which  she  was  per- 

42 


TESSA  GOES  THROUGH  THE  KEYHOLE    43 

fectly  happy,  for  all  she  had  to  do  was  to  wait  until 
everybody  was  safely  inside,  then  she  stooped  over 
and  kept  one  eye  at  the  keyhole,  and  watched — and 
watched — and  watched.  For  a  while  every  one 
stood  up  and  sang.  Then  they  read  aloud  together. 
Then  they  closed  their  eyes  and  a  man  on  the  plat- 
form talked, — his  eyes  were  closed,  too.  Then  little 
groups  formed  around  small  tables,  after  which  there 
was  the  soft  babble  of  voices,  and  laughter,  and  the 
children  used  colored  crayons.  Tiptoe  Tessa  saw 
them  do  it.  You  can  see  a  great  deal  through  a  key- 
hole if  you  stand  there  long  enough !  And  standing 
was  one  thing  Tessa  kept  doing  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day until  the  day  came  around  when  she  actually 
went  through  the  keyhole.  Quite  suddenly,  of 
course.  For  the  Gentleman- Who-did-the-Talking-on- 
the-Platform  very  unexpectedly  opened  the  door,  and 
was  astonished  to  have  something  soft  and  round 
tumble  at  his  feet ! 

When  he  stooped  down  to  pick  it  up,  he  discovered 
it  was  not  an  "  it,"  at  all,  but  a  very  bashful  little 
girl  who  tried  hard  to  scramble  to  her  feet  and  hurry 
away. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said,  pleasantly,  "  you're  just 
the  very  person  we  need  to  sit  on  one  of  our  empty 
chairs."  And  to  Tessa's  horror  he  remarked  to 
everybody  present,  "  Which  class  of  girls  wants  a 
new  scholar  ?  " 

Such  a  shouting:  "We  do!"  "We  want  her!" 
"  Oh,  give  her  to  us,  Mr.  Superintendent !  "  Tessa 
suddenly  was  the  most  popular  girl  in  the  room,  and 
when  she  was  finally  seated  with  a  class  of  girls  her 


44  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

own  age  the  teacher  explained  why  every  one  was  so 
eager  to  claim  her. 

"  The  classes  are  having  a  membership  contest," 
she  said,  "  and  none  of  us  knows  where  to  find  new 
scholars.  My  girls  have  tried  and  tried,  but  so  far 
we  haven't  been  able  to  discover  one  single  new  girl 
anywhere." 

With  that.  Tiptoe  Tessa  found  her  tongue.  "  Oh, 
but  I  wait-a  outside-a  the  door  ev-er-y  week-a  mak- 
ing a  peek  through-a  the  keyhole,  listen-a  to  the 
song-a,  and  see-a  the  color-a  pencil." 

The  teacher  sighed.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  and  I'm  afraid 
you've  been  aching  to  be  asked  inside,  haven't  you  ?  " 

Tessa  beamed.  "  But  I  never  dream-a  you  want-a 
Italiana  girl  in  these  so  fine-a  church !  I  live-a  just-a 
round  the  corner." 

"  Really?  "  sighed  the  teacher,  as  if  her  heart  were 
aching,  "  and  have  you  brothers  and  sisters  and 
cousins  and  neighbors  who  never  go  to  Sunday- 
school  ? " 

Tessa  smiled.  "But-a  yes,  Signorita,  leetle  and 
big-a,  bambino  and  grandpater,"  then  she  began  tick- 
ing them  off  on  her  fingers :  "  Lisabetta,  Marianina, 
Fiametta,  Constantina,  Angelo  and  Tony,  they  be- 
long-a  in  my  fam-ilee.  But  all-a  the  day  they  make-a 
the  rose-a.  You  know-a  how-a  to  make-a  the  rose-a, 
yes?" 

"  No,"  said  the  teacher,  shaking  her  head,  "  but  I 
would  like  to  call  on  you  this  afternoon,  then  I  can 
watch  you,  can't  I  ?  " 

And  Tessa  ran  home  smiling  with  the  news  that 
there  would  be  grand  company.     The  seven  children 


TESSA  GOES  THEOUGH  THE  KEYHOLE    45 

looked  up  from  the  table,  where  they  were  making 
roses,  and  even  the  unbusiness-like  bambino  stopped 
rolling  around  the  floor  in  complete  astonishment. 
"Ah  yes,"  said  Papa  Bellamonte  from  his  bed,  "  how 
shall  we  have  grand  company  in  this  so  crowded 
room,  with  me  in  bed — hey?  Answer  me?  We  will 
not  have  the  so  fine  lady,  no!  She  shall  go  home. 
See?" 

Tessa  looked  at  her  mother  through  tears  that 
made  the  sateen  roses  one  great  pink  blurr.  "  That 
lady,  she  is  so  nice !     You  let  her  come,  yes  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Bellamonte  dipped  her  finger  in  the 
paste,  crumpled  some  bits  of  pinkness  about  a  wire, 
then  strung  on  five  petals — pasting,  patting,  shaping 
the  petals  into  a  cup-like  nest,  much  too  busy  to  an- 
swer the  questions  of  a  foolish  idle  daughter, 

"  Get  busy,"  she  snapped,  "  you  run  off  when  you 
should  work.  Look  at  Fiametta,  she  sit  quiet  all 
day.  See  the  pile  of  roses  she  make.  And  Lisa- 
betta,  she  beat  you  all  hollow !  Come  on  now,  make 
roses,  Tessa." 

So  Tessa  pasted  sateen  roses  on  wire  stems  and 
hung  them  later  on  a  cord  to  dry.  But  her  heart  was 
heavy. 

Yet  at  half-past  four  there  came  a  knock.  No- 
body knows  to  this  day  why  that  gentle  knock  should 
have  pushed  the  door  wide  open,  so  that  before  she 
knew  it  Tessa's  teacher  stood  beside  the  table  piled 
with  round  pink  rose  leaves.  She  never  dreamed 
she  was  not  welcome,  for  her  eyes  were  startled  at 
the  sight  of  seven  silent  children  pasting  some  one's 
sateen  roses.     Instantly  she  pictured  a  score  of  Eas- 


46  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

ter  bonnets,  gay  and  spring-like  with  these  same  pink 
rosebuds,  and  she  whispered  softly,  "  Dear  God,  help 
me  to  bring  Thy  Easter  here — inside  this  dismal 
room." 

And  I  know  the  Friend  of  Little  Children  heard 
her  prayer.  For  the  minute  she  reached  home  she 
told  her  pastor  and  her  friends  about  the  Bella- 
montes.  "  Think  of  it;  just  around  the  corner  from 
our  church.  And  the  poor  dears  only  receive  eight 
cents  for  making  a  hundred  and  forty-four  roses," 
she  cried,  "  and  those  little  children  looked  so  pale 
and  grown-up,  and  their  father  is  so  sick.  It's  ter- 
rible." 

So,  each  in  their  own  way,  her  pastor  and  her  va- 
rious friends  began  to  help.  And  a  poet,  learning  of 
the  family,  wrote  a  verse  about  them. 

THE  FLOWER  FACTORY 

"Lisabetta,  Marianina,  Fiametta,  Teresina, 
They  are  winding  stems  of  roses,  one  by  one,  one  by 

one, 
Let  them  have  a  long,  long  playtime, 
Lord  of  Toil,  when  Toil  is  done. 
Fill   their  baby  hands   with   roses,  joyous  roses   of 

the  sun."* 

But  Tessa's  teacher  said :  "  Thank  God  we  do  not 
need  to  wait  until  they  die  to  give  them  roses.  For 
it's  Easter!  And  Easter  is  a  day  of  resurrection 
from  the  dead." 

So  that  glorious  Sunday  morning  when  a  score  of 
spring-like  bonnets  bore  the  Bellamonte  roses, 
*  Published  by  S.  S.  McClure  Company. 


TESSA  GOES  THROUGH  THE  KEYHOLE    47 

Tessa's  teacher  brought  real  roses  in  her  anns  as 
the  chimes  rang  out  that  Christ  is  risen. 

"  See !  "  she  called  from  the  doorway,  "  a  real  rose 
for  each  of  you." 

"  Ah,  Signorita,"  Mrs,  Bellamonte  cried,  "  they 
have  been  here  to  tell  me  the  good  news  already. 
To-morrow  we  move  to  the  janitor's  quarters  in  the 
church.  And  my  man,  say,  he  get  well  queeck  now. 
You  watch  him!  And  the  kids,  I  send  them  to 
school,  like  you  tell  me." 

And  Tessa  whispered:  "If  I  had-a  not  peek-a 
through-a  that  keyhole,  say!  then  I  would-a  never 
have  smell-a  a  real-a  rose-a,  maybe,  perhaps ! " 


VI 

BECAUSE  OF  THE  KID  GLOVE  LADY 

THAT  was  not  her  real  name,  of  course. 
For  she  had  a  perfectly  wonderful  name 
of  her  own,  and  the  minute  you  heard  it 
you  knew  she  was  that  very  rich  lady  who  lived  in 
the  beautiful  house  on  the  avenue  with  the  shiny 
windows,  where  a  really-truly  butler  opened  and 
shut  the  front  door  and  waited  on  the  table.  But 
because  of  a  certain  little  thing  she  once  did  they  be- 
gan calling  her  the  Kid  Glove  Lady,  they  still  do  it, 
and  she  likes  it  even  better  than  her  own  name. 

It  all  began  one  piping  hot  day  when  she  was  rid- 
ing along  Main  Street  in  her  glittering  automobile 
and  saw  Miss  Missionary  trudging  wearily  along  the 
sidewalk. 

"  Jessie !  "  she  called,  "  oh,  Jessie !  I'll  give  you  a 
lift— get  in  !  " 

You  may  be  sure  Miss  Jessie  got  in  as  quickly  as 
possible,  and  gave  such  an  enormous  sigh  of  relief 
that  she  really  felt  she  ought  to  apologize  for  it. 
"  You  know  these  hot  September  days  make  me  feel 
a  hundred  years  old.  I'm  all  one  great  big  head- 
ache! Perhaps  because  I  didn't  get  my  vacation  in 
August." 

48 


BECAUSE  OF  THE  KID  GLOYE  LADY    49 

The  lady  in  the  automobile  looked  at  her.  "  Jessie, 
I'm  going  to  kidnap  you,  and  whisk  you  right  out  to 
my  country  home  for  over  Sunday.  Now  don't  say 
a  word — you  need  a  real  rest  away  from  those  dirty 
Italians  of  yours,  and  I'm  going  to  see  that  you  get  it. 
Jenkins  will  drive  yoii  out  tliere,  and  you  must  for- 
get you  run  a  mission  or  have  a  single  duty." 

"  Oh,  but  I  couldn't  be  away  over  Sunday,"  gasped 
Miss  Jessie;  "you  forget  I  run  a  Sunday-school. 
Who  would  do  the  teaching  for  me,  I  would  like  to 
know?" 

"Well,  why  couldn't  I  teach  it?"  asked  the  Kid 
Glove  Lady,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment;  "just  tell 
me  the  golden  text  and  I'll  do  it.  I'll  do  anything  to 
bring  a  rested  look  back  to  the  place  where  your 
smile  is  hanging  around  loose!  And  I  always  get 
my  own  way,  you  know ! " 

So  it  was  settled,  and  Miss  Missionary  was  whirled 
out  to  the  lovely  country  place,  while  the  Kid  Glove 
Lady  stayed  in  town  and  spent  hours  and  hours  star- 
ing at  the  Golden  Text.  For  it  seemed  too  queer  for 
words :  "  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord  ? 
and  who  shall  stand  in  His  holy  place?  He  that 
hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart,  who  hath  not 
lifted  up  his  soul  unto  vanity  nor  sworn  deceitfully." 

The  Kid  Glove  Lady  scowled  at  the  words !  She 
frowned  at  them!  She  actually  grew  rather  pro- 
voked at  them ! 

"  Of  all  impossible  lessons  for  Jessie's  dirty,  dirty 
Italians.  They  don't  even  know  what  clean  hands 
are,  and  she  hasn't  been  able  to  make  them  learn 
after  one  whole  year  of  trying.     So  how  am  I  to  do 


60  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

it  ?  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  Why  did  I  ever  send  Jessie 
away  ?  " 

So  she  lay  awake  all  night,  and  Sunday  morning 
she  hardly  ate  any  breakfast  at  all.  But  she  put  on 
her  most  becoming  hat,  and  the  chauffeur  drove  her 
down  to  our  mission  veiy  early.  For  she  remem- 
bered that  Jessie's  Italians  had  a  habit  of  arriving 
hours  before  time. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  she  made  a  lovely  picture 
as  she  stood  at  the  door  waiting.  For  her  hat  was  a 
dream,  and  her  dress  was  wonderful,  and  her  long 
white  kid  gloves  actually  gleamed.  Nothing  like  that 
had  ever  appeared  at  the  mission  before,  and  the 
news  spread  like  wildfire  that  it  would  be  well  to 
come  to  Sunday-school  to-day.  So  every  one  was 
there. 

And  the  Kid  Glove  Lady  stood  in  the  doorway 
shaking  hands  with  each  new  arrival  just  as  Miss 
Missionary  herself  always  did.  Naturally  it  proved 
far  more  thrilling  to  shake  a  white  kid  glove  hand 
than  an  every-day  missionary  hand,  so  they  pumped 
it  shyly  up  and  down,  and  stood  around  staring  at 
her,  their  mouths  open ! 

"  She  look-a  like-a  de  ladies  what  comes  out  of 
fashion  pictures,"  they  whispered,  while  Catterina 
Cimino  said  spellbound,  "  I  bet-a  she's  the  swell  mil- 
lionaire, for  sure ! " 

Finally  every  one  had  come,  so  they  sang  their  open- 
ing songs  very  lustily.  Then  the  Kid  Glove  Lady's 
heart  began  to  go  pitty-pat,  for  the  lesson  time 
was  drawing  near,  and  she  still  did  not  know  how  to 
teach  it.     But  absent-mindedly  she  began  pulling  off 


BECAUSE  OF  THE  KID  GLOVE  LADY    51 

her  long  white  gloves,  and  as  she  did  so  she  stared 
and  stared  at  them.  For  they  were  horrible  to  see — 
smutty — and  mussy — and  gray — and  black.  "  Well, 
I  never !  "  she  gasped  to  herself.  And  everybody  in 
that  whole  room  saw  the  beautiful  Kid  Glove  Lady 
looking  in  utter  disgust  at  her  own  gloves.  She  kept 
on  looking,  even  although  lesson  time  had  come ;  then 
suddenly  she  looked  up  and  said  very  impressively, 
"  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord  ?  and 
who  shall  stand  in  His  holy  place?  He  that  hath 
clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart.     .     .     ." 

Somehow  everybody  present  fastened  his  or  her 
Italian  eyes  on  those  dirty  white  gloves !  And  every- 
body's conscience  began  whispering,  "  I  did  it ! " 
"  I  did  it ! "  "  Look  here  now,  surely  that  lady's 
gloves  were  snowy  white  until  I  shook  hands  with 
her.  I  dirtied  her  beautiful  gloves  myself  because  I 
forgot  to  wash  my  hands  as  Miss  Jessie  has  asked 
me  to  do  so  often."  "  Oh,  I  did  it !  "  "I  did  it !  " 
So  one  and  all,  they  began  to  feel  terribly  ashamed. 

You  can  see  for  yourself  that  the  Kid  Glove  Lady 
had  absolutely  no  trouble  in  teaching  that  lesson,  for 
her  silent  gloves  did  most  of  the  talking  for  her !  In- 
stead of  taking  them  off  she  kept  them  on,  holding 
them  up  so  every  one  could  notice  the  smuts  and 
smears.  No  Sunday-school  lesson  ever  made  such  a 
tremendous  impression  on  them.  This  is  the  way 
Catterina  Cimino  reviewed  the  lesson  for  Miss  Jessie 
the  following  Sunday :  "  Now  you  must-a  know. 
Teacher,  that  clean-a  hand-a  is  very  much  more 
nicer  than  dirty  hand-a,  for  my  dirty  hand-a  is  not 
only  keep-a  me  dirty,  but  it  make-a  the  Kid  Glove 


62  NEXT-DOOR  ITEIGHBOES 

I^dy  dirty,  too.  And  there  ain't  no  use-a  de  knock 
at-a  the  door-a  of  Heaven  with  dirty  hand-a,  for  the 
Lord  Jesus  He  not  hke-a  I  should-a  dirty  nobody." 

Tony  Ravello  waved  his  hand  excitedly.  "  Say, 
Teacher,  she's  been  and  left  out  all  about-a  the 
heart-a.  Dirty  heart-a  cant-a  get  into  Heaven, 
neither,  Miss  Jessie;  one-a  dirty  heart-a  make-a  the 
others  dirty " 

Catterina  broke  in :  "  Like-a  when  a  kid-a  says 
swear  words,  it  don't-a  only  hurt-a  him,  it  hurt-a  the 
leetle  fella  what  ain't  learnt-a  to  swear-a  yet." 

So  to  this  very  day  Miss  Jessie  says  the  most  suc- 
cessful thing  she  ever  did  at  our  mission  was  to  take 
a  vacation  that  one  Sunday!  The  Kid  Glove  Lady 
has  given  her  gloves  to  Miss  Jessie,  who  keeps  them 
in  a  desk  at  the  mission;  and  once  in  a  while  when 
anybody  new  has  especially  dirty  hands  Catterina  or 
Tony  will  borrow  the  gloves  and  tell  about  the  Kid 
Glove  Lady's  visit  all  over  again ! 


THE  BOHEMIANS 

VII 

THE  CALICO  MOTHER'S  APRON  STRINGS 

IT  was  Mothers'  Day  all  over  America,  and  in 
the  Bohemian  Mission  the  scholars  had  been 
asked  to  bring  their  mothers  to  Sunday-school 
with  them ;  so  the  little  room  was  crowded.  And  the 
Preacher,  looking  in  at  the  door,  exclaimed  to  the 
missionary,  "  What  a  sight !  I  thought  you  told  me 
that  nothing  could  lure  these  mothers  from  their 
homes?  " 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  she  answered  wistfully,  "  it 
happens  so  seldom!  Those  mothers  in  there — ^how 
I  love  every  one  of  them,  and  how  they  are  beginning 
to  confide  in  me,  at  last.  But  do  you  know,  they  tell 
me  that  their  greatest  trouble  comes  when  their  boys 
and  girls  stop  obeying  them?  It  is  only  too  true,  for 
every  once  In  a  while  a  girl  will  say,  *  Mamma,  she 
ain't  so  American  like  me,  Miss  Burns,  I  just  don't 
pay  no  attention  to  her  no  more.  She  don't  wear  no 
proper  clothes  like  you,  just  calico,  and  I  tells  her 
she  don't  know  nothing.'  And  only  this  week  little 
Johann  Strauss  said,  '  Say,  Miss  Burns,  what's  the 
use  for  me  bein'  tied  to  mommer's  apron  strings  for- 
ever, hey?"* 

53 


54  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

"Ah!"  said  the  Preacher,  gently,  "  I'm  glad  you've 
told  me  all  this.  I  know  what  to  tell  them  now."  So 
a  little  later,  after  several  hymns  and  prayers,  a  si- 
lence fell  as  the  Preacher  stood  before  the  room  of 
children  and  their  mothers;  mothers  who,  of  course, 
did  wear  the  most  calico  of  calico  dresses,  and  whose 
hands  were  rough  and  red;  but  in  their  honest,  lov- 
ing eyes  the  Preacher  saw  a  longing  which  their 
children  overlooked.  So  this  is  the  story  he  told 
them: 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Queen  so  rich  and 
beautiful  that  every  one  turned  to  look  at  her  hun- 
dred silken  gowns  as  they  cried,  "  Oh  !  "  and  "Ah !  " 
Every  few  hours  she  had  to  change,  of  course:  first 
a  breakfast  gown,  then  a  garden  gown,  next  a  lunch- 
eon gown,  then  a  gown  to  drive  in,  another  for  din- 
ner, another  for  the  court  ball  each  evening — you 
can  see  for  yourself  what  fun  it  would  have  been  to 
watch  her.  And  you  might  suppose  she  would  have 
been  the  happiest  person  in  the  world  instead  of 
which  she  was — as  blue  as  indigo ! 

Because,  you  see,  she  had  three  handsome  sons 
and  three  pretty  daughters,  but  not  a  single  prince  or 
a  single  princess  ever  did  what  their  nurses  or  gov- 
ernesses wanted  them  to  do;  it  was  frowns  and 
scowls  and  kicks  and  loud  words  all  day,  until  the 
King  and  Queen  were  nearly  frantic;  for  the  chil- 
dren were  a  perfect  nuisance  to  have  around.  When 
news  of  this  behavior  leaked  out  into  the  kingdom 
the  poor  subjects  wagged  their  heads  most  solemnly 
and  sighed,  "  Such  ill-bred  children  ought  to  die ! 


THE  CALICO  MOTHER'S  APRON  STRINQS  65 

We  shudder  to  think  of  the  day  when  such  disagree- 
able monsters  will  be  old  enough  to  rule  us." 

Then  others  said :  "  They  won't  die,  because  they're 
fed  too  carefully  and  watched  too  thoroughly  by  all 
those  guards  and  nurses  in  the  palace.  So  if  we 
don't  want  them  to  grow  up  to  be  our  rulers,  let's 
kill  them  off  now,  one  by  one." 

And  they  plotted  to  do  this  very  thing ! 

When  news  of  this  wicked  plan  reached  the  Queen, 
what  did  her  beauty  or  her  golden  crown  or  her 
hundred  silken  robes  matter  to  her  then  ? 

"Ah  me! "  she  wept,  and  the  tears  splashed  down 
on  her  purple  satin  gown  and  made  little  marks  all 
over  it. 

But  when  she  had  cried  exactly  half  a  dozen  great 
salt  tears,  behold  there  stood  at  her  elbow  a  weazened 
little  fairy,  the  kind  who  has  grown  old  by  continu- 
ally worrying  over  helping  other  people's  trouble. 
And  this  kind  little  creature  said  gently :  "  Tut !  tut ! 
your  majesty,  this  is  no  way  for  a  queen  to  spoil  her 
royal  purple  gown." 

The  Queen  blinked  through  her  tears  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  why  I  cry "  she  began,  but 

the  fairy  interrupted :  "  I  do  know ;  and  tears  won't 
help  at  all.  Has  your  majesty  tried  wearing  apron 
strings  ?  " 

"Apron  strings!!"  gasped  the  startled  Queen, 
"  what  an  absurd  suggestion  to  make  to  me,  you  silly 
fairy.  How  would  I  look  wearing  apron  strings  in 
court  ?    People  would  laugh  at  me." 

"  Oh,  no,"  breathed  the  fairy,  "  they  would  not 
dare  to  laugh.     Besides,  they  would  think  it  was  a 


56  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

new  fashion  you  were  setting,  and  by  the  next  morn- 
ing eveiy  storekeeper  in  the  whole  realm  would  be 
selling  aprons  as  fast  as  he  could  take  them  down 
from  the  shelves.  I  really  think  that  if  you  sent  the 
nurses  and  governess  away  at  once,  and  tied  each 
little  prince  and  princess  to  your  apron  strings,  you'd 
soon  notice  a  world  of  difference  in  their  behavior. 
And  it  would  be  such  a  pretty  fashion,  the  prettiest 
in  the  world,  that  all  the  sour  old  duchesses  who 
hate  your  disagreeable  children  would  begin  smiling 
and  smiling,  until  every  court  lady  would  copy  you 
at  once.  There  isn't  a  moment  to  lose,  if  you  would 
save  your  children." 

"  W-e-1-1,"  wavered  the  Queen,  "  I  might  try  it, 
but  where  can  I  get  these  apron  strings?  I'm  sure 
the  court  dressmakers  would  faint  if  I  ordered  them 
offhand  this  way." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  smiled  the  fairy,  "  I  can  make 
you  some  right  away."  And  with  her  little  wand 
she  touched  the  six  salt  tear-drops  that  had  stained 
the  purple  satin  gown;  and  from  those  glistening 
tear-drops  long  slender  threads  grew  rapidly — three 
on  one  side,  and  three  on  the  other. 

So  the  Queen  summoned  her  children,  but  as  usual 
they  refused  to  come,  stamping  their  wayward  feet 
and  wrinkling  their  naughty  noses,  until  they  spied 
those  curious  gleaming  strands  which  a  fairy  was 
weaving;  then  they  crept  nearer.  And  the  fairy 
whispered :  "  It's  the  loveliest  game  In  the  world,  my 
dears;  just  tie  these  round  your  hearts,  then  tag 
along  with  your  mother,  and  whatever  she  does,  you 
do,  too" 


THE  CALICO  MOTHER'S  APRON  STRINGS    57 

"  Oh,  what  a  circus !  "  grinned  the  princes.  "  Oh, 
what  a  lark ! "  sang  the  princesses.  So  the  Queen 
went  into  court  with  that  little  human  train  of  six 
excited  children  trailing  after  her.  And  when  she 
graciously  shook  hands  with  the  Great  High  Chan- 
cellor of  the  realm,  behold,  the  six  small  children 
thought  it  was  part  of  their  new  game  to  shake 
hands,  too.  And  the  old  gentleman  was  exceedingly 
pleased. 

"  Usually  they  poke  out  their  nasty  little  tongues 
at  me,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Great  High  Chancellor  that 
night;  "my  dear,  why  don't  you  buy  some  apron 
strings  yourself,  so  each  of  our  little  High  Chan- 
cellors can  be  tied  to  you?  I  think  it  would  be 
exceedingly  becoming  to  you." 

"  I  thought  of  it  myself,"  she  admitted,  "  for  never 
have  I  seen  the  Queen  look  so  adorable  as  when  those 
six  wee  children  copied  her  delightful  manners  all 
night  long.  I'm  sure  the  subjects  do  not  dream  how 
dear  those  children  really  are — oh,  I  wish  that 
wicked  plot  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea !  " 

"It  shall  be,"  said  the  Great  High  Chancellor 
emphatically.    And  it  was! 

For  the  Queen's  apron  strings  made  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world.  So  from  that  day  to  this  all 
really  proper  children  are  tied  round  their  hearts  to 
their  own  mother's  apron  strings.  Oh,  no,  you 
hardly  ever  see  those  strings :  they're  spun  from  love 
and  tears  and  tenderness;  but  the  children  that  are 
tied  to  them  grow  into  splendid  rulers,  while  the 
careless,  rude  children  who  cut  loose  from  those 
strings  are  invariably  spoken  of  like  this  by  every 


68  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

one:  "I'd  like  to  get  rid  of  that  awful  child.  A 
regular  nuisance, — and  so  unlovable." 

You  may  be  sure  each  teacher,  in  the  lesson  which 
followed,  told  her  class  how  even  the  great  Lord 
Jesus  had  obeyed  His  mother :  a  brand  new  thought 
to  every  small  Bohemian,  and  one  which  worked  a 
miracle,  I  tliink.  For  shortly  after  this  the  naughty 
Johann  Strauss  went  to  his  mother,  saying :  "  Say, 
mommer,  when  I  was  awful  bad  on  you  to-day,  you 
cried !  Say,  was  you  spinning  me  new  apron  strings 
from  love  and  tears  like  the  Sunday  Preacher  said  ? " 

And  his  mother  nodded. 


VIII 
ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DANDELION 

WHEN  the  First  Church  opened  their  Fresh 
Air  Farm  for  children  from  the  slums  in 
Pleasant  Village  that  summer,  Olga 
Robsa  was  among  the  first  arrivals.  All  on  account 
of  seeds,  that  was,  too :  for  on  Easter  every  child  in 
Sunday-school  had  been  given  a  package  of  seeds 
to  plant.  And  Olga,  who  had  always  dreamed  of 
owning  a  growing  flower  sometime,  planted  her  seeds 
in  an  old  starch  box  found  in  the  alley  outside  the 
near-by  laundry.  She  set  the  box  on  the  family  win- 
dow-sill opening  on  a  dingy  court,  where  the  sun 
only  shone  for  twenty  little  minutes  any  day.  Two 
weeks  later  when  the  Church  Visitor  came  to  call, 
Olga  had  a  request.  "  Could  you  do  favors  on  me  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Indeed  I  will,  my  dear,"  the  Visitor  assured  her ; 
"  tell  me  what  to  do." 

"  I  wants  as  how  you  should  make  me  a  sign  what 
reads  '  Keep  Off  the  Grass  '  in  big  words,  like  what 
it  says  by  parks.  So  I  puts  it  on  my  new  garden. 
Sooner  me  brudder  and  me  uncles  comes  back  from 
de  factory  for  sleeping,  they  makes  them  jokes  mit 
my  garden, — ^bad  jokes,  Leddy.  They  pokes  at  it 
mit  fingers,  und  spits  at  it.  You  could  to  help  me 
mit  signs ! " 

So  the  Visitor  printed  In  big  black  letters  "  Keep 
59 


60  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

Off  the  Grass,"  but  she  could  hardly  see  the  words, 
her  eyes  were  so  blurred  with  tears  about  this  poor 
starch-box  garden  in  a  sunless  window,  four  stories 
up  from  the  cluttered  courtyard.  And  when  the 
Fresh  Air  Farm  was  opened  Olga  Robsa  was  among 
the  first  arrivals  in  June. 

All  up  and  down  the  village  street  she  raced,  all 
through  the  sunny  fields  and  meadows  where  not 
a  single  sign  said  "  Keep  Off  the  Grass."  She 
wanted  no  better  heaven.  Yet  the  very  joy  of  it  led 
her  to  temptation. 

One  day  she  stopped  at  a  neighbor's  on  the  street 
and  told  her  little  tale.  Such  a  foolish  unbelievable 
little  tale  that  it  soon  spread  all  over  the  village,  and 
then  reached  the  ears  of  the  First  Church  Visitor, 
herself. 

"Olga,  how  could  you?"  said  this  Visitor,  much 
shocked. 

"  Sorry,"  Olga  squirmed,  "  but  it  won't  go  no  f ur- 
der,  sure ! " 

But  the  Visitor  gave  a  sigh  and  said :  "  Dear  child, 
I  see  I  shall  have  to  teach  you  a  lesson  about  foolish 
tales  like  yours."  And  Olga's  heart  sank  almost  to 
her  ten  bare  toes — for  this  sounded  uncomfortably 
like  bad  punishment.  But  the  Visitor  pointed  to  a 
fuzzy  white-headed  dandelion  gone  to  seed  in  the 
front  lawn : 

"  I  want  you  to  pick  it,  Olga,  then,  carrying  it  up- 
right, I  want  you  to  run  all  the  way  down  the  street 
and  back  to  me." 

Olga's  heart  sang  a  little  tune,  for  this  seemed  a 
jolly  nonsensical  punishment!     So  she  picked  the 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  DANDELION    61 

dandelion  and  went  dancing  down  the  street  with  a 
merry  hop-skip-and-a-jump,  while  away  blew  the 
fuzzy  white  seeds.  When  she  came  back  to  the 
porch  her  cheeks  were  pink  and  her  eyes  twinkling; 
but  the  Visitor's  face  was  solemn. 

"  Now  go  back  down  the  street,  dear,  and  pick  up 
every  one  of  the  seeds.    Hurry !  " 

But  Olga  couldn't  hurry — slowly  she  meandered 
across  lawns  and  sidewalks,  looking  and  looking  and 
looking,  but  somehow  those  little  seeds  had  all  mys- 
teriously disappeared.  The  wind  must  have  thought 
it  a  clever  game  to  scatter  them  throughout  the 
neighborhood,  for  try  as  she  might  she  found  only 
two  of  the  countless  bits  of  dandelion  floss. 

Big  salty  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  as  she  laid 
them  quietly  in  the  Visitor's  lap. 

"  You  see,  Olga  dear,  that  your  story  has  spread 
all  over  the  neighborhood  as  quickly  and  mysteri- 
ously as  the  dandelion  wings  have  done,  and  however 
hard  you  may  try  you  can  never  bring  them  back 
home  again.  For  a  word  once  spoken  is  gone  for- 
ever!" 

So  when  Olga  went  back  to  her  slum,  not  only 
was  her  face  tanned  and  plump,  but  there  was  a 
different  glint  in  her  big  blue  eyes.  "  Listen  on  me 
reciting  a  pome  what  I  learnt  by  that  Farm,"  she 
would  say,  until  all  the  neighbor's  children  knew  it 
quite  as  well  as  she: 

"  My  heart  is  God's  little  garden, 
And  the  things  growing  there  each  day. 
Are  the  things  He  shall  see  me  doing, 
And  the  words  He  shall  hear  me  say." 


THE  CHINESE 

IX 
SLANT-EYES  AND  PIG-TAILS 

EVERYTHING  about  her  was  so  very,  very 
different,  that  it  was  no  wonder  Betty  looked 
at  her  in  utter  surprise.  For  she  had — yes 
really,  my  dears ! — she  had  three  pig-tails  hanging 
down  her  back,  three!  And  each  of  them  was 
finished  off  with  some  red  cotton  woven  in  with  the 
hairs  at  the  ends;  to  make  those  little  braids  seem 
even  longer  than  they  really  were. 

Betty  looked  and  looked,  and  counted  and  counted. 
Yes,  there  certainly  were  three  of  them.  Somewhere 
it  must  be  stylish  to  have  three!  And  that  was  the 
first  surprising  thing  about  this  different  new  ^rl. 

The  next  thing  was  just  as  strange,  for  she  cer- 
tainly was  a  little  girl,  yet  she  always  wore  trousers! 
Sometimes  blue  cotton  trousers  with  a  blue  cotton 
jacket,  and  sometimes — on  very  special  occasions — 
green  silk  trousers,  with  a  red  silk  jacket. 

Moreover  this  little  girl's  eyes  slanted  up  at  the 
comers.  Then,  as  if  this  wasn't  enough  to  surprise 
Betty,  let  me  add  that  when  Betty  went  up  and  asked 
her  why  in  the  world  she  had  three  pig-tails  and 
trousers,  this  curious  child  very  shyly  said  some- 
thing that  sounded  exactly  like  "  S,  t,  u,  v,  w,  x, 

y.  z!" 

62 


SLANT-EYES  AND  PIG-TAILS  63 

"Is — is — that  a  sentence,  or — or — ^just  the  alpha- 
bet ?  "  poor  Betty  stammered. 

Whereupon  Slant-Eyes  and  Pig-Tails  replied  even 
more  shyly :  "  L,  m,  n,  o,  p,  q,  r,  s !  "  At  least  that's 
how  it  sounded,  although  it  really  made  beautiful 
sense  in  her  own  language.  But  Betty  discovered 
how  hard  it  was  to  make  friends — with  sentences 
that  sounded  like  A  B  C's. 

She  dug  her  toes  into  the  mud,  and  wondered 
what  to  do  next,  when  the  mud  seemed  to  say  to 
her :  "  Mud-pies,  of  course !  "  For  surely  you  can 
see  what  Betty  at  once  discovered — that  mud-pies 
are  the  same  good  fun  in  any  language!  So  they 
made  them  all  morning  in  the  alley :  little  round  mud- 
pies,  little  beart-shaped  pies,  little  square  ones.  It 
was  lots  of  fun.  Then  Betty  found  two  clothes-pins 
and  easily  turned  them  into  dolls  by  twisting  bits  of 
paper  around  them  for  dresses,  making  eyes  and 
noses  and  mouths  on  their  little  round  heads  with  a 
pencil.  Slant-Eyes  and  Pig-Tails  giggled  and 
giggled,  saying  a  great  many  excited  sentences  about 
them,  only  every  sentence  sounded  to  Betty  like: 
"F,  g,  h,  i,i,  k,  1!" 

Betty  had  never  been  so  altogether  surprised. 
What  was  this  strange  child  talking  about,  anyway? 

"  I  know  what  I'll  have  to  do,"  she  suddenly  cried, 
"  I'll  just  have  to  teach  her  to  talk  English.  It  will 
be  like  playing  school.  See  this,  Slant-Eyes,  well  it's 
mud.    Now  you  say  it — '  mud,'  come  on !  " 

"  Mud !  "  said  Slant-Eyes,  dimpling  all  over. 

"  And  this  is  a  stone;  now  you  say  it — *  stone ' !  ** 

"  Stone ! "  repeated  Slant-Eyes,  giggling. 


64  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

Then  Betty  pointed  to  herself :  "  I'm  a  girl"  she 
said,  "  and  you're  a  girl,  too.     Say  that," 

"  Girl !  "  laughed  Slant-Eyes. 

"  That's  fine,"  praised  Teacher-Betty,  then  point- 
ing to  mud  she  said :  "  Now,  what's  that  called  ?  " 

"  Stone ! "  shouted  the  new  pupil,  loudly. 

"  No !  no !    Mud.    Now  what  am  I  ?  " 

"  Mud !  "  sighed  the  poor  little  pupil. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  cried  Betty  to  herself,  "  we  aren't 
getting  anywhere.    I'll  just  begin  all  over  again!  " 

So  they  played  English  lessons  all  morning  long. 
But  because  you  have  always  talked  English  ever 
since  you  talked  anything  at  all,  you  have  no  least 
idea  how  hard  it  is  to  learn  the  strange  long  words 
of  somebody  else's  language.  But  Betty  tried,  and 
Slant-Eyes  tried,  until  one  wonderful  day,  a  week 
later,  when  she  ran  over  to  greet  Betty  with  the  smil- 
ing welcome :  "  Good-bye,  girl !     Come  again !  " 

"  Oh  me,  oh  my ! "  sighed  Betty,  "  you're  all  up- 
side down,  for  that's  the  thing  to  say  when  you're 
going  home,  not  when  you're  just  coming.  But 
never  mind,  you  meant  all  right,  and  it  was  a  real 
sentence.  Sometime  soon  you're  going  to  talk  and 
talk  and  talk.  Let's  play  store  to-day,  Slant-Eyes. 
Now  this  is  potato — this  is  rice — these  are  beans. 
I'll  be  the  storekeeper.  Good-morning,  madam, 
what  can  I  sell  you  to-day  ?  " 

"  Mud,"  cried  Slant-Eyes,  dimpling.  For  alas, 
alas,  mud  was  the  first  word  she  had  learned,  and 
she  used  it  on  every  occasion. 

This  is  the  side  of  the  story  as  far  as  Betty  knew 
it ;  but  of  course  there's  another  side,  for  every  little 


SLANT-EYES  AND  PIG-TAILS  65 

girl  has  some  sort  of  a  home  where  she  eats  and 
sleeps,  so  suppose  we  tag  along  after  Slant-Eyes. 

Oh,  what  dismal  alleys  she  goes  through,  what 
broken  fences,  what  horrid  smells!  Then  when  we 
get  indoors, — what  rickety  stairs,  and  what  dark, 
dark  halls.  When  we  reach  a  certain  door,  we  hurry 
in  after  Slant-Eyes,  and  there  sits  her  mother,  doing 
nothing.  Just  holding  her  own  hands,  doing  nothing. 
She  does  it  all  day.  For  she  is  lonesome.  She  does 
not  know  anybody  in  town.  If  she  goes  out  on  the 
street  the  strange  unknown  noises  frighten  her;  she 
cannot  go  into  stores,  because  she  cannot  speak  Eng- 
lish; she  has  no  books  or  newspapers,  because  she 
does  not  know  how  to  read  a  single  word,  even  in 
her  own  language.  She  cooks  the  rice  for  the  meals ; 
then  she  sits  and  sits  and  sits.  Homesick,  Home- 
sick for  far-away  China  where  she  used  to  live. 

But  one  day  her  little  daughter  came  rushing 
home,  with  smiles  all  over  her  dear  yellow  face. 

"Kind  mother,"  cried  this  dimpling  girl,  speak- 
ing in  the  Chinese  language,  of  course  (the  one  that 
sounded  like  "  V,  w,  x,  y,  z  "  to  poor  Betty),  "  kind 
mother,  there  is  a  celestial  little  American  in  the 
next  alley  and  we  play  heavenly  games  with  each 
other,  and  I  learn  this  queer  American  speech  most 
beautifully.  Now  listen  while  I  tell  you — for  the 
wetness  of  dirt  In  the  alley  is  known  as  mud." 

"  Mud,"  repeated  the  lonely  mother. 

Of  course  there  is  no  time  to  tell  you  how  every 
single  word  that  Slant-Eyes  learned,  her  mother 
finally  learned,  too.  It  took  a  great  many  playtimes, 
but  little  by  little  the  new  words  became  very  famil- 


66  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

iar  and  pleasant  to  say.  Then  one  proud  day  some 
one  knocked  at  the  door,  and  the  mother  of  Slant- 
Eyes  called  in  perfect  English :  "  Come  in,  thank 
you ! " 

She  really  should  have  said  please  instead  of  thank 
you,  but  that  was  a  small  mistake  to  our  Miss  Mis- 
sionary, who  had  heard  of  these  Chinese  strangers 
and  had  come  to  call.  She  was  delighted  that  they 
knew  any  English,  at  all,  and  invited  them  to  come 
to  a  place  called  a  church  the  next  afternoon.  There 
would  be  other  Chinese  people  there. 

"  I  come  with  happy  foots,"  cried  the  mother  of 
Slant-Eyes,  "but  what  are  church?  Me  learn  much 
fine  American  words — mud  and  girl  and  school  and 
store  and  money,  but  me  no  learn  church?  " 

But  Slant-Eyes  had  just  come  in  and  said :  "  Kind 
mother,  I  play  '  church '  with  Betty  all  this  day.  It 
is  most  beautiful,  for  church  are  a  place  where 
Americans  sing  this  nice  little  sing,  you  listen  with 
your  honorable  ears," — and  she  tilted  back  her  head 
and  sang  in  English : 

"Jesus  loves  me,  this  I  know 
For  the  Bible  tells  me  so; 
Little  ones  to  Him  belong, 
They  are  weak,  but  He  is  strong." 

"  Happy !  Happy !  "  cried  the  lonesome  Chinese 
mother,  for  she  seemed  to  feel  right  away  how  the 
church  would  fill  up  the  dreadful  empty  days. 

And  of  course  it  did.  But  you  and  I  can  easily 
see  how  Betty  also  helped  by  playing  the  spirit  of 
America  right  Into  dear  little  Slant-Eyes. 


SOTSrS  SOAP-SUDS 

WHEN  Sotsi  first  saw  them  she  was  per- 
fectly sure  they  must  be  something  good 
to  eat,  because  they  were  white  and 
fluffy  exactly  like  many  of  the  peculiar  things  the 
queer  Americans  often  ate.  So  quicker  than  a  flash 
she  scooped  up  a  handful  and  popped  it  into  her 
mouth,  for  it  seemed  wise  to  be  quick  about  it,  as 
there  was  only  one  small  bowl  and  a  dozen  of  other 
children,  whose  stomachs  were  probably  as  hungry 
as  hers.  But  never  was  a  Chinese  stomach  or  a 
Chinese  mouth  more  completely  astonished  or  dis- 
gusted, for  the  beautiful  fluffiness  proved  an  utter 
failure  as  food!  She  sputtered  and  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  but  the  more  she  wriggled  her  mad  little 
tongue  the  more  suds  she  worked  up,  imtil  all  the 
children  who  had  been  at  the  mission  longer  laughed 
their  wise  little  Chinese  heads  nearly  off.  Only  Miss 
Missionary  rushed  to  her  sympathetically,  and  man- 
aged to  help  her  remove  the  amazing  foaminess. 
Which  was  Sotsi's  first  introduction  to  soap ! 

Presently  when  she  discovered  that  the  suds  were 
for  making  bubbles,  you  should  have  seen  her  with 
her  own  little  pipe,  blowing  bubbles  off  into  space 
and  chuckling  with  delight  as  they  sailed  up  to  the 
ceiling. 

67 


68  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOHS 

"  Me  makee !  Me  makee !  "  she  would  scream  as 
each  new  bubble  went  soaring  away,  and  then  she 
would  wail :  "  Oh,  me  losee !  Me  losee !  Where  did 
little  bubble  went  ?  "  It  was  all  huge  fun,  and  made 
Sotsi  have  a  vast  respect  for  the  thing  called  soap. 
Indeed,  it  became  a  positive  fascination  for  soap  and 
everything  that  soap  did.  She  asked  questions  ga- 
lore of  the  other  children  who  had  been  in  America 
longer,  and  it  seemed  you  were  supposed  to  wash 
your  dishes  with  soap,  and  your  clothes  with  soap, 
and  even  yourself.  This  last  was  astonishing,  for 
she  never  remembered  to  have  had  a  bath,  and  it 
seemed  a  great  waste  of  perfectly  good  soap  and  per- 
fectly good  water. 

But  one  eventful  day  when  she  had  been  coming 
to  our  mission  about  ten  days  she  made  a  very 
solemn  and  polite  request:  Would  the  Honorable 
Lady  permit  that  she  remove  her  unworthy  garments 
and  float  in  the  thing  called  a  tub  with  a  piece  of 
heavenly  soap  to  make  suds?  The  Honorable  Lady 
permitted ;  and  Sotsi  went  in  and  locked  the  door. 
There  were  horrified  squealings  at  first,  then  bliss- 
ful gurgles  of  joy.  Then  by  and  by  Sotsi  came  out 
so  delightfully  clean  that  her  cheeks  looked  like  little 
yellow  tea-roses, — the  expensive  kind,  with  just  the 
tiniest  bit  of  pink  showing  through ! 

Sotsi  went  home  to  show  herself  off,  and  the 
amusing  part  of  it  is  that  her  own  mother  actually 
did  not  know  her.  She  stared  and  stared  at  Sotsi 
in  complete  surprise,  for  it  was,  and  yet  it  wasn't,  her 
small  daughter.  But  when  the  surprise  wore  off  the 
whole  family  agreed  it  was  a  pleasant  change,  and 


SOTSI'S  SOAP-SUDS  69 

Mr.  Wang  actually  parted  with  five  cents  so  that 
they  might  have  a  cake  of  the  "  magic  washer  "  in 
the  house.  And  all  because  of  that  one  little  cake  of 
soap  the  entire  Wang  family  became  Christians; 
which  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  Mr.  Wang 
intended  to  have  happen,  for  had  he  not  a  row  of 
little  gods  on  the  god-shelf  which  he  worshipped 
every  day, — little  wooden  gods  which  he  had  carried 
all  the  way  from  China  to  America? 

But  Tai  Fah  Min  was  to  give  a  recitation  which 
he  had  written  all  by  himself,  and  that  recitation  plus 
the  piece  of  soap  converted  them  all.  I  am  sure  you 
know  that  people  who  give  recitations  in  public  like 
to  appear  well,  and  Tai  Fah  Min  had  set  his  heart  on 
having  a  pair  of  American  trousers,  and  an  Ameri- 
can coat  with  an  American  handkerchief  sticking  out 
of  the  pocket.  Please  don't  let  yourself  be  preju- 
diced against  him  because  he  was  a  boy  who  loved 
clothes;  for  I  dare  say  you  yourself  have  worried 
about  the  way  your  necktie  was  tied  or  the  proper 
height  for  collars  this  season. 

Unfortunately  Mr.  Wang  simply  could  not  be 
moved  to  give  one  single  cent  toward  new  clothes 
for  the  success  of  the  recitation,  Mr.  Wang  had 
black  eyes  that  looked  at  you  in  a  sleepy  kind  of 
way  until  you  wondered  whether  he  had  heard  what 
you  said.  But  he  had.  Perfectly.  It  was  simply  his 
Chinese  way  of  seeming  indifferent  and  as  if  a  reci- 
tation more  or  less  meant  absolutely  nothing  to  him. 
Even  a  recitation  with  a  prize  attached, — ^provided  it 
happened  to  be  the  best,  of  course.  So  Tai  Fah  Min 
was  very  unhappy. 


70  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

But  Sotsi  was  at  the  stage  when  she  still  thought 
soap  was  a  remedy  for  any  ill  in  life,  and  she  looked 
Tai  Fah  Min  up  and  down  in  the  most  thoughtful 
way :  "  As  clothes,  they  is  most  miserably  not ;  but 
me  washee  and  makee  clean,  so  you  lookee  more 
nicer,  see  ?  " 

Tai  Fah  Min  did  not  see  how  washing  was  to  help, 
but  Sotsi  had  her  way,  and  put  his  clothes  to  soak 
in  a  marvellous  mass  of  suds.  Then  her  eye  hap- 
pened to  light  on  the  little  wooden  gods,  and  she 
began  wondering: — if  they  were  any  good  at  all, 
surely  Chinese  gods  would  want  a  little  Chinese  boy 
to  make  the  best  recitation  and  win  the  prize.  Surely 
ancestral  idols  might  prove  an  even  stiffer  magic 
than  American  soap.  So  she  lifted  them  dovni  from 
the  god-shelf  and  plunged  them  into  the  soap-suds 
with  the  cotton  shirt  and  the  trousers.  She  swished 
and  swirled  the  idols  around  in  the  suds,  she  pom- 
melled them  up  and  down,  while  under  her  breath 
she  kept  praying  in  Chinese :  "  Honorably  bless  Tai 
Fah  Min,  deign  to  make  him  most  glorious  speaker, 
let  him  look  most  magnificent ! "  Then  to  make 
doubly  sure,  she  even  rubbed  the  little  wooden  gods 
on  the  shirt  and  trousers  exactly  as  if  they  had  been 
soap,  saying  a  little  prayer  all  over  again. 

Then  she  lifted  Tai  Fah  Min's  clothes  out  of  the 
basin,  and  could  hardly  believe  her  poor  dear  eyes. 
For  if  they  had  been  streaked  and  smutty  before, 
then  just  imagine  how  they  now  looked  when  the 
dust  of  generations  which  had  settled  on  the  Wang 
idols  was  now  transferred  on  Tai  Fah  Min's  one  and 
only  suit  of  clothes,  together  with  some  scarlet  paint 


SOTSI'S  SOAP-SUDS  71 

and  some  curious  green  powder  from  incense.  It 
was  as  if  instead  of  planning  to  wash  the  suit,  she 
had  actually  set  out  to  scrub  the  idols.  For  they 
were  now  peculiarly  pale  and  wet-looking;  while  the 
suit  was  simply  hopeless. 

Sotsi  sat  down  and  wept  the  saltiest  kind  of 
Chinese  tears;  I  positively  dare  not  tell  you  what 
happened  to  her  when  Tai  Fah  Min  saw  his  suit,  or 
when  Mr.  Wang  saw  the  idols.    Poor  Sotsi ! 

"  Miserable  female,"  he  shouted,  shaking  her  up 
and  down,  "  you  have  surely  brought  bad  luck  on  all 
of  us.  For  years  and  years  who  of  your  an- 
cestors has  ever  dared  to  wash  the  venerable 
idols,  you  insignificant  good-for-nothing  little  soap- 
maniac  ! " 

Which  was  really  the  tamest  of  all  the  disagree- 
able things  that  happened  to  Sotsi;  so  it  is  no  won- 
der she  ran  away  to  our  mission  and  told  Miss  Mis- 
sionary all  about  it. 

"  Me  putee  too  big  hope  in  Amelican  soap ! "  the 
poor  child  sobbed,  while  more  salt  tears  rolled  down 
her  little  tea-rose  cheeks.  But  you  must  have  no- 
ticed one  nice  thing  about  missionaries — they  know 
exactly  how  to  help!  And  Miss  Missionary  boiled 
Tai  Fah  Min's  suit  until  all  the  idol  stains  vanished 
as  if  by  magic,  and  he  made  his  recitation  looking  al- 
together spick  and  span.  Moreover  the  solemn  judges 
agreed  that  his  little  speech  was  "  written  with  in- 
telligence and  delivered  with  expressive  delibera- 
tion." So  he  won  the  prize,  after  all : — a  Bible,  full 
of  colored  pictures. 

He  carried  it  home  and  laid  it  on  the  god-shelf 


72  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

beside  the  pale  idols.  "  It  tells  about  the  Amelican 
God,"  he  announced. 

Mr.  Wang  had  to  examine  it,  of  course,  and 
found  the  pictures  so  interesting  that  he  wanted  to 
know  what  they  were  about.  Whereupon  Tai  Fah 
Min  told  the  few  Bible  stories  he  knew,  and  Sotsi 
told  the  few  she  knew.  Mr.  Wang  was  sure  these 
stories  were  not  true,  such  a  wonderful  God  was  too 
much  for  him  to  believe  in  all  at  once,  so  he  actually 
went  to  the  mission  to  inquire  into  matters.  And 
when  he  once  began  inquiring  he  found  it  hard  to 
stop  until  he  was  altogether  convinced  that  the  Chris- 
tian's God  is  God  indeed,  and  that  little  carved  idols 
which  gathered  dust  on  the  god-shelf  are  absolutely 
useless  chips  of  wood. 

So  from  that  day  to  this  Sotsi  has  been  living 
out  the  meaning  of  her  Chinese  name,  "  Little  Great 
Happiness."  But  it  took  soap-suds,  plus  our  mis- 
sion, to  bring  the  happiness  to  her. 


THE  JAPANESE 

XI 

INTRODUCING  MISS-TEN-THOUSAND- 
AGES-OF-BAMBOO-GRASS 

WM.  EMERSON  ADAMS  MacDONALD 
was  very  tall  and  exceedingly  grand- 
looking.  Moreover  he  wore  a  high  silk 
hat  and  gray  kid  gloves,  which  made  him  look  more 
wonderful  yet.  He  made  the  little  waiting-room  in 
the  station  seem  smaller  than  usual.  And  the  very 
tiny  personage  smoothed  her  blue  kimono  over  her 
knees  in  order  to  look  as  neat  as  possible  while  wait- 
ing in  the  presence  of  any  one  so  Absolutely  Mag- 
nificent. 

The  train  was  very  late  in  arriving.  It  didn't 
come,  and  it  didn't  come !  The  gentleman  kept  pull- 
ing his  gold  watch  out  of  his  pocket  and  scowled  at 
it.  "  Oh,  but  it  isn't  the  fault  of  his  honorable  watch 
that  the  miserable  train  comes  slow,"  thought  the 
very  tiny  person  very  tenderly,  hating  to  have  even 
a  watch  blamed  unjustly. 

With  true  Japanese  tact  she  racked  her  polite  little 
brain  for  something  to  distract  the  Absolutely  Mag- 
nificent One's  attention.  For  even  at  the  age  of  ten 
she  was  motherly  enough  to  know  that  if  cross  ba- 

73 


74  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

bies  needed  to  be  amused,  then  obviously  even  an 
Absolutely  Magnificent  Grown-Up  must  be  made  to 
think  of  something  besides  the  one  thing  he  couldn't 
possibly  have.  So  presently  if  you  had  been  in  the 
station  you  would  have  heard  an  absurd  little  squeak : 
it  was  the  small  person  politely  clucking  to  call  atten- 
tion to  herself.  The  tall  gentleman  turned  his  bored 
blue  eyes  upon  her,  and  was  very  much  startled  to 
have  this  totally  unknown  child  bow  as  she  remarked : 
*'  Have  honorable  man  had  a  pleasant  Christmas  with 
plenty  suitable  gift,  maybe?" 

"  Christmas  ? "  he  frowned,  "  whatever  made  you 
think  of  last  Christmas  when  this  is  the  month  of 
November  ?  " 

She  squinted  up  at  him  through  her  quaint  slant 
eyes.  "  Oh,"  she  chuckled,  "  both  been  miserably 
quiet  so  very  long  time.  So  what  you  got  Christ- 
mas?" 

"  Why  r-r-really,"  he  stammered,  "  really  I  can't 
remember.  Christmas  was  so  very  long  ago.  What 
did  you  get?" 

"  No  believe  in  Christmas,  myself,"  she  said,  nod- 
ding her  head  severely,  "  how  could  ?  Japanese  be- 
lieve in  Buddha,  so  Christmas  are  not  holiday  for 
lonely  me.     Just  for  Americans." 

The  Absolutely  Magnificent  One  magnificently  un- 
bent and  leaned  toward  her  wagging  his  gray  kid 
glove  finger :  "  See  here,  young  lady,  you're  a  little 
heathen,  and  before  Christmas  comes  around  again 
I'll  prove  it.  How  long  have  you  been  here  in 
America,  anyway  ?  " 

"Oh,  since  ever  and  ever  before,"  she  smiled. 


MISS-TEN-THOUSAND-AGES  76 

"  You're  too  clear! "  he  laughed,  "  let  me  see  if  I 
can  find  out  what  your  name  is !  " 

"  Chiyoye  Sasa !  "  she  replied,  making  a  polite  little 
Japanese  bow  the  way  one  should  on  being  intro- 
duced. 

So  although  he  had  not  meant  to,  he  also  bowed. 
"  That's  a  mouthful  of  a  name,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
believe  I  can  ever  say  it  properly." 

"  Perhaps  you  like  me  better  done  over  into  Ameri- 
can talk,"  she  said  quaintly,  "  that  way  my  name  do 
mean   Miss   Ten-Thousand-Ages-of-Bamboo-Grass." 

"  Never !  Surely  you're  not  all  hat  ?  "  he  gasped, 
"just  you?"  (She  nodded  primly.)  "But  you're 
only  as  big  as  a  minute  and  that  name  is  yards  long." 

She  stood  up  and  smoothed  out  her  kimono  as 
straight  as  possible.  "  There  is  room  for  much  Jap- 
anese grow,"  she  giggled,  "  perhaps  another  yester- 
day or  two  and  I  should  grow  way  up  in  the  air — oh, 
way  up,  like  church  steeple !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  gentleman,  "  so  you've  noticed 
our  church  steeples,  have  you?  How  do  you  like 
them  ?  " 

"  Not — not  so  well  as  I  could  to  like  Qiristmas," 
she  admitted  wistfully.  "  I  do  got  big  hunger  inside 
for  Christmas." 

"  Listen !  "  whispered  the  Magnificent  One,  "  I'm 
going  to  feed  that  hunger  with  a  Christmas  tree  and 
a  stocking  full  of  goodies.  Just  you  wait!  Where 
do  you  live,  you  little  Ten-Thousand-Ages-of-Bam- 
boo-Grass?"  and  he  pulled  out  his  note-book  and 
pencil. 

"  Oh,  but  you  couldn't  to  forget,"  she  smiled,  "  for 


76  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

I  do  got  the  same  address  as  your  honorable  self. 
My  father  are  waiter  in  the  boarding-house  where 
you  do  got  rooms.  We  got  home  down  under  in  the 
cellar.  Little  home  like  over  in  Japan — matting  floor, 
no  chair,  no  table.  My  mother  like  we  do  sit  on 
floor  same  as  in  Japan  and  eat  with  chop  stick.  My 
father  like  we  do  things  American  way.  Some  day 
soon  we  do  got  to  go  to  Japan  some  more." 

The  Magnificent  One  looked  at  her  astonished: 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  we've  been  living  in  the  same 
house  for  months  and  months?  Well,  I  never! 
How  many  are  there  of  you?  Sometimes  I  hear  a 
baby  crying  at  night,  don't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  our  baby,  he  do  be  getting  new  tooths. 
Then  there  do  be  three  others  between  baby  and 
me " 

"  Seven  heathen ! "  said  the  Magnificent  One 
softly,  and  it  really  sounded  a  little  as  if  he  had  a 
special  reason  for  being  glad  about  it.  But  the  train 
thundered  in,  and  with  hardly  time  to  say  good-bye 
he  jumped  aboard  just  as  Chiyoye  Sasa's  father  was 
jumping  off  the  train. 

"  Felicitous  marriage ! "  bowed  the  polite  Japanese 
servant. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Ito — I'll  be  back  in  two  weeks  !  '* 

The  train  thundered  away. 

"  He's  on  his  way  to  be  married,"  explained  the 
little  girl's  father. 

"  Oh,  no  wonder  he  makes  most  restless  lookings 
at  his  watch,"  smiled  Miss  Ten-Thousand-Ages-of 
Bamboo-Grass  very  wisely. 


MISS-TEN-THOUSAND-AGES  77 

Several  hours  later,  in  the  near-by  city,  a  certain 
groom  was  whispering  to  his  pretty  bride :  "  Now, 
my  dear,  you  need  not  worry  again  about  not  going 
as  a  missionary,  for  I  have  some  wonderful  news 
for  you !  It  seems  that  I've  been  living  right  on  top 
of  seven  delightful  heathen  for  months  and  montlis 
without  knowing  it.  Japanese  heathen  who  worship 
Buddha  and  don't  believe  in  Christmas.  Now  isn't 
that  something  to  live  for  ?  " 

"  Like  the  good  old  hymn : 

'  If  you  cannot  cross  the  ocean 
And  the  heathen  land  explore, 
You  can  find  the  heathen  nearer, 
You  can  find  them  at  your  door.'  " 

"  Yes,"  he  laughed,  "  and  maybe  you'll  even  be 
finding  my  seven  special  heathen  peeking  through 
the  keyhole ! " 

"  I'll  love  it !  "  she  said,  "  and  I  want  to  know  right 
now  whether  you're  going  to  be  the  kind  of  a  Sun- 
day-school superintendent  to  give  me  one  of  those 
cunning  little  class  rooms  all  my  own  in  your 
school " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  the  brand  new  superintendent 
agreed,  "  provided  you  sit  in  it  yourself  with  my 
seven  little  heathen,  and  teach  them  things " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  announced,  "  do  you  sup- 
pose I'm  going  to  let  one  of  them  go  back  to  Japan 
a  little  heathen  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  promptly,  "  I'm  sure  you  won't." 

And  she  didn't.    Not  one ! 


XII 

LITTLE  MISS  WATERFALL 
TUMBLES  DOWN 

YOU  might  suppose  that  tumbling  down  was 
a  specialty  of  waterfalls,  something  they  did 
every  day  of  their  existence  and  thought 
nothing  about  it,  because,  of  course,  watery  water- 
falls have  nothing  to  think  with !  But  our  little  Miss 
Waterfall  was  entirely  different :  she  did  have  some- 
thing to  think  with,  namely,  a  little  J^anese  brain 
simply  buzzing  with  horrified  Japanese  thoughts. 
For  she  had  been  rimning,  and  now  she  was  sud- 
denly not  running,  but  lying  down  right  where  she 
did  not  want  to  be.  And  she  simply  .  .  .  could 
.  .  .  not  ...  get  ...  up!  All  the  lit- 
tle dots  are  to  show  you  how  she  tried  by  wriggling 
and  squirming  to  get  up;  but  something  had  gone 
altogether  wrong  inside  of  her.  So  she  kept  on  lying 
down.    It  was  really  the  only  thing  to  do. 

And  she  was  all  alone. 

So  two  tears  played  a  waterfall  game  down  her 
cheeks;  and  then  two  more  tears  followed,  splash- 
ing on  her  kimono. 

"Oh,  look!"  a  voice  cried,  "that  little  girl  has 
tumbled  down  on  the  ice.  She  is  hurt."  And  in  no 
time  at  all  there  was  a  crowd  standing  around;  so 

78 


MISS  WATEEFALL  TUMBLES  DOWN     79 

Miss  Waterfall  cried  even  more,  because  it  is  very 
unpleasant  to  have  an  audience  when  you  are  lying 
down  and  can't  get  up. 

Then  an  ambulance  came  clanging  up,  and  a  man 
in  white  gently  lifted  her  inside;  and  she  went  ooz- 
ing along  the  streets  as  if  in  a  dream.  For  she  had 
always,  always,  wanted  to  ride  in  one  of  these  de- 
lightful American  jinrikishas! 

Next  came  the  hospital.  And  the  doctor,  and 
pain.  Then  she  found  herself  lying  in  a  bed  in  a 
room  with  dozens  of  other  beds.  Somebody's  head 
poked  itself  out  of  every  bed,  and  Miss  Waterfall 
thought  it  looked  very  forlorn  to  see  so  many  chil- 
dren in  bed  in  the  daytime. 

Presently  a  crisp  blue  nurse  came  sailing  along 
and  stopped  beside  her :  "  Little  girl,  we  want  to 
know  your  name." 

"  O  Taki  San,"  she  answered ;  "  but  Americanly  it 
do  be  Miss  Waterfall." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  nurse,  writing  it  down. 
"  And  now  where  do  you  live,  so  we  can  notify  your 
family  where  you  are  ?  " 

"  Family  is  forever  and  ever,"  Miss  Waterfall 
said,  solemnly  shaking  her  head, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  gasped  the  nurse,  unable  to 
believe  her  ears. 

"  Forever  and  ever  all  gone,"  sighed  Miss  Water- 
fall. "  Winter  got  most  frosty,  and  one  morning 
family  are  shiver  inside  kimono  most  miserable. 
Then  they  out  somewhere;  and  soon  so  much  coal 
and  wood  as  can  wish.  But  presently  family  must 
all  gone  forever  and  ever." 


80  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

"  Oh-h-h !  "  sighed  the  nurse,  "  do  you  mean  that 
they  died?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  they  walk  it  on  their  honorable  foots," 
the  little  girl  said  promptly. 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  in  the  world  you  mean," 
laughed  the  nurse.    "  I'll  have  to  call  an  interne." 

So  he  came,  very  white  and  crinkly  in  his  starched 
suit,  and  full  of  questions.  "  Where  do  you  live,  my 
dear?"  he  began. 

"  Next  by  the  green  house  around  the  corner," 
said  Miss  Waterfall. 

"  What  corner  ? "  he  insisted. 

*'  Why,  the  corner  what  is  next  by  the  green 
house;  only  it  could  to  be  not  green,  it  breaks  so 
easily,"  Miss  Waterfall  explained,  amazed  that  any 
one  so  brisk  should  seem  so  dense. 

"  But  surely  the  street  has  a  name,"  he  continued. 

Miss  Waterfall  puckered  up  her  eyebrows.  "  I 
do  not  can,"  she  said  finally ;  "  it  are  vanish !  "  Then 
she  reeled  off  a  yard  of  Japanese  very  rapidly. 

The  interne  looked  at  the  nurse.  And  the  nurse 
looked  at  him.  They  seemed  dazed;  the  patients 
were  agog  with  curiosity. 

"  Say,  nurse,"  volunteered  a  little  Jewish  girl,  **  I 
can  talk  Yiddish  real  fast ;  perhaps  she  could  under- 
stand that." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  but  she's  Japanese,  you  see." 

And  although  they  tried  and  tried,  nobody  could 
find  out  any  more  about  the  mysterious  family  who 
seemed  to  have  "  walked  away  on  their  honorable 
foots  forever  and  ever";  nor  could  anybody  locate 
that  "  green  house  next  by  the  corner."    There  were 


MISS  WATEEFALL  TUMBLES  DOWN     81 

thousands  of  green-colored  houses  in  town,  and  ten 
thousand  street-corners.  So  the  fame  of  Uttle  Miss 
Waterfall  spread  all  through  the  hospital  until  it 
reached  the  private  room  of  the  Very  Rich  Impor- 
tant Patient.  The  one  who  had  been  in  bed  for 
months  and  months,  and  never  seemed  to  care 
whether  she  lived  or  died.  The  nurses  used  to  tell 
her  all  the  news  to  amuse  her;  but  nothing  ever  did 
amuse  her.  She  just  gazed  at  them  out  of  her  sad 
blue  eyes  imtil  they  wanted  to  cry. 

But  this  new  story  was  a  little  different.  "  Non- 
sense !  "  she  said  in  her  low,  tired  voice ;  "  surely  you 
can  find  out  something!  I  know  I  could.  Haven't 
you  learned  her  father's  name?" 

"  But  she's  positive  she  hasn't  a  father  or  a  mother 
or  an  atmt  or  an  uncle  or  any  kind  of  a  family.  She 
doesn't  mind  not  being  located,  you  know.  She  likes 
it  here." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  the  Very  Rich  Important  Pa- 
tient; "  I  know  I  could  find  out  all  about  her.  Bring 
her  here." 

The  nurse  looked  highly  astonished.  "H-h-here!" 
she  stammered.  "Are  you  sure  you  want  to  be 
troubled  with  her?" 

"  I  shall  like  it,"  said  the  lady.  "  Why  don't  you 
hurry  a  little !  " 

So  presently  Miss  Waterfall  was  put  in  a  wheel- 
chair and  trundled  through  the  corridors  from  the 
free  ward  over  to  the  expensive  private  rooms.  It 
was  another  delightful  adventure. 

"This  are  jinrikisha  more  like  in  Japan,"  she 
smiled  happily,  patting  the  wheel-chair.     Then,  as 


82  KEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

she  was  pushed  into  the  room  of  the  Very  Rich 
Patient,  she  stared  and  stared  about  her. 

"  Are  I  real  ? "  she  whispered,  awe-struck. 
"  These  are  look  Hke  the  inside  of  house  around  the 
corner,  the  house  what  are  green,"  and  she  pointed 
in  surprise  at  the  lovely  ferns  and  flowers  around 
the  room. 

"  You  can  leave  us  now,  nurse,"  said  the  Very 
Rich  Patient,  and  after  she  had  tiptoed  away,  the 
lady  said  to  Miss  Waterfall,  "Tell  me  about  the 
house ;  is  it  very  green  ?  " 

Miss  Waterfall  smiled  adorably :  "  It  are  be  some 
American  joke,  for  it  are  no  green  at  all;  it  are  thin, 
so  green  plants  could  to  show  through  the  window ! 
That  house  are  all  one  big  window;  I  forgot  to  re- 
mind that  to  the  man  what  are  politely  ask  where  I 
live." 

The  lady  in  bed  laughed  and  laughed.  "I'm  a 
real  detective!  It's  near  a  florist's  glass  greenhouse 
where  you  live,  isn't  it?  We  can  telephone  all  the 
florists  in  town  and  locate  your  street,  I  am  sure. 
And  now,  what  happened  to  that  family  of  yours? 
Why  did  they  all  walk  away  ?  " 

"  How  can  tell  ?  Blue  man  with  buttons  down  his 
coat  did  come;  he  made  pointings  at  the  coal  and 
wood,  and  then  they  all  walk  on  their  foots  down  the 
street." 

"  Oh  ?  a  policeman,  wasn't  it  ?  And  where  were 
you  when  he  arrested  your  family  ?  " 

Miss  Waterfall  leaned  over  confidentially:  "I  do 
be  kneeling  behind  screen  and  are  make  prayer  on 
your  American  God  to  keep  me  safe.'* 


MISS  WATEEFALL  TUMBLES  DOWN      83 

"  God ! "  said  the  lady  sadly.  "  So  you  believe 
there  is  a  God  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  sure !  "  cried  Miss  Waterfall.  "  Aren't 
He  bring  me  away  from  that  police?  I  makes  run- 
nings, then  slip  on  ice,  so  here  I  are  where  no  police 
can't  found  me.  God  are  wonderful.  American 
God,  I  mean.  Japanese  god  are  no  good.  He  are 
wood  and  sits  all  days  on  little  shelf.  He  no  got  help 
for  nobody.    American  God  quite  differently." 

And  that  was  the  strange,  queer  way  that  an  amaz- 
ing thing  happened  here  in  our  Christian  America. 
For,  as  day  followed  day,  that  little  Japanese  girl 
taught  this  beautiful  rich  American  lady  to  believe 
in  God.  She  had  lived  such  a  busy  worldly  life, 
gadding  around  to  party  after  party,  having  a  good 
time,  that  she  had  never  taken  even  one  hour  in  all 
her  life  to  think  about  God.  But  I  expect  He  must 
have  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  thinking  about  her; 
for  finally,  when  she  became  very  sick,  too  tired  to 
live,  He  picked  out  the  quaint  little  Japanese  girl  to 
bring  back  smiles  to  her  lips  and  peace  to  her  heart 
which  had  always  been  so  empty. 

No  doubt  you  are  wondering  where  Miss  Water- 
fall ever  learned  about  God  herself.  And  that  is 
where  you  and  I  come  in.  For  Miss  Waterfall's 
mother  was  converted  in  a  mission,  years  ago,  and 
the  only  prayer  Miss  Waterfall  ever  learned  was 
"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," — in  Japanese,  of 
course. 

The  whole  family  went  back  to  Japan  for  several 
years,  then  returned  to  America,  where  the  poor  lit- 
tle mother  died  of  influenza  soon  after  landing.    But 


84  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

Miss  Waterfall  never  forgot  about  God,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  her  father  and  her  uncles  laughed  to 
see  her  kneel  to  pray.  She  knew  God  was  not  laugh- 
ing! In  all  America,  He  seemed  the  only  friend  she 
had,  for  her  family  kept  moving  and  moving  from 
city  to  city  and  from  house  to  house,  until  it  was  no 
wonder  she  never  knew  where  she  lived.  She  did 
know,  though,  that  the  thing  they  did  for  a  living 
was  wicked,  and  that  they  were  afraid  of  the  police. 

One  day,  soon  after  that,  the  Very  Rich  Patient 
sat  up  in  bed.  Before  long  she  sat  in  a  chair.  And 
one  wonderful  Thursday  morning  she  took  Miss 
Waterfall  home  with  her  in  an  automobile.  It  was 
like  a  fairj^-story  come  true.  Only  the  Very  Rich 
Lady  insisted  that  Miss  Waterfall  was  the  fairy  who 
had  brought  the  richest  gifts — health  and  love  and 
God ;  while  Miss  Waterfall  always  insisted  it  was  the 
other  way  round :  "  Oh,  you  is  the  fairy,  for  sure ! 
Are  I  not  go  school  and  make  readings  from  books? 
God  are  give  you  to  me  when  I  are  most  lone- 
somes  ! " 

They  found  the  dear  Mrs.  Missionary  who  had 
been  such  a  friend  to  Miss  Waterfall's  mother ;  and 
the  nicest  things  for  Japanese  children  began  creep- 
ing into  that  mission — cunning  little  chairs  just  the 
right  height  for  little  bits  of  tots,  lovely  pictures  for 
the  walls,  games  for  rainy  days,  and  flowers  to  grow 
on  the  window-sill.  I  am  sure  you  can  guess  where 
they  came  from.  For,  as  Miss  Waterfall  herself 
said,  "  All  we  must  do  now  is  to  live  happily  ever 
after." 


THE  NEGROES 

XIII 

BROWN  BETTY  AND  THE  CHOCOLATE 
BABY 

THE  Chocolate  Baby  held  out  his  little 
chocolate  hands  and  yelled  as  only  choco- 
late babies  can  yell  at  seeing  their  choco- 
late brownness  suddenly  iced  with  little  flecks  of  icy 
whiteness  floating  straight  down  from  heaven, — such 
an  awfully  unexpected  thing  for  heaven  to  do !  He 
couldn't  help  let  heaven  hear — and  earth,  too — ^his 
howling  disapproval. 

Whereupon  Brown  Betty  (how  I  do  hope  you 
aren't  imagining  her  a  pudding)  rushed  outdoors 
and  took  the  Chocolate  Baby  in  her  arms.  "Oh, 
honey  chile,"  she  whispered,  "  it  ain't  gwine  ter  hurt 
you;  it's  jest  the  little  new  thing  called  snow,  what 
we  never  done  see  down  South  in  Dixie.  It  won't 
hurt  you  one  mite,  honey." 

But  the  Chocolate  Baby  had  had  no  experience 
with  snow,  and  he  intended  to  let  It  know  from  the 
very  beginning  that  it  wasn't  welcome  to  fall  on  him. 
Brown  Betty  jiggled  him  in  her  arms  so  fast  that 
the  howl  was  broken  up  into  queer  choppy  sounds, 
and  when  he  grew  a  little  less  noisy  she  whispered  in 

85 


86  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

his  ear:  "Snow  ain't  nothing  that's  gwine  ter  hurt 
anybody,  you  Httle  scairt  baby,  you!  Why,  snow 
ain't  nothing  but  fedders  from  httle  angels'  wings. 
Yes,  sir,  them  little  angels  goes  a-sailing  roimd  the 
golden  streets  of  hebben,  and  'pears  like  jest  nat- 
urally their  little  bits  of  fedders  won't  stick  on  prop- 
erly— down  they  falls  on  you  and  me.  Now  angels 
is  the  onliest  friends  we've  got  left  way  up  North 
here,  honey,  and  I  s'pect  they  let  the  fluffy  fedders 
drop  down  specially  for  you  and  me  to  play  with. 
Yes,  sir.  And  they'd  be  powerful  disappointed  to 
hear  you  howling." 

The  Chocolate  Baby  listened  with  half  an  ear,  and 
then  he  sobbed  in  queer  jerky  sentences  that  he 
didn't  "  like  fedders  in  the  air,  fedders  dat  am  cold." 

That  was  true,  of  course,  and  Brown  Betty  racked 
her  little  brain  for  some  other  story — a  better  one. 
"  Quit  your  yelling,  you  little  darky,  you !  And  I'll 
tell  you  how  Saint  Peter  makes  the  snow.  Yes,  sir; 
that  nice  good  Saint  Peter.  Why  ain't  you  never 
heard  tell  how  he  wrote  some  of  them  books  in  the 
Bible ;  well,  he  did,  and  I  reckon  mebbe  when  he  sits 
at  the  gate  up  in  hebben  he's  got  a  powerful  lot  of 
time  hanging  loose  on  his  hands;  tending  gates 
couldn't  keep  nobody  busy  all  the  time,  so  he  writes 
an'  he  writes  an'  he  writes.  Then  every  oncet  in  a 
while  he  tears  up  what  he  writes  and  chucks  it  in  the 
waste-basket.  Why,  yes,  honey!  Sure  God's  got  a 
waste-basket  in  hebben;  course  He  has.  And  the 
first  thing  you  know,  it  gets  full  up,  and  Saint  Peter 
he  jest  empties  it  down  on  us.  And  while  them  lit- 
tle specks  of  paper  is  floating  down  they  gets  colder 


BROWN  BETTY  87 

and  colder,  and  turns  into  snow,  because  they  don't 
like  leaving  hebben.  For  hebben's  a  powerful  pleas- 
ant place  to  live,  honey  chile.  Pleasanter  nor  com- 
ing North  like  you  and  I  done." 

The  Chocolate  Baby's  sobs  were  getting  fewer  and 
farther  between,  for  he  certainly  loved  Brown 
Betty's  stories;  and  just  because  this  one  showed 
signs  of  stopping,  he  deliberately  started  up  again. 
Howling  came  much  too  easy  to  him!  And  poor 
Brown  Betty  could  never  quite  tell  which  howl  was 
made  up,  and  which  was  genuine.  But  this  present 
howl  sounded  very  real  indeed,  for  she  thought  it 
quite  possible  that  he  was  actually  startled  by  the 
snow.  Certainly  it  was  a  curious  thing  to  see  for 
the  first  time  in  your  whole  little  life. 

Then  suddenly  she  knew  the  very  story  that  would 
sound  convincing.  "  Now  hold  back  your  tears, 
honey  chile,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  snow  really  is. 
It's  ice-cream,  honey.  Yes,  sir!  That's  what  it  is. 
I  s'pect  it's  somebody's  birthday  up  in  hebben,  some 
little  angel's,  mebbe;  and  the  other  angels  is  giving 
him  a  party,  and  there  is  actually  more  ice-cream  than 
they  need  to  go  round.  Yes,  sir,  all  them  little  cheru- 
bims  and  seraphims  has  more  than  they  can  swallow, 
so  the  cook  he  jest  drops  the  rest  of  the  ice-cream 
down  for  you  and  me.  Jest  like  the  white  folks 
done  down  South  in  Dixie :  *  Here's  some  left-over 
cream,  little  darky,'  they  would  call.  So  jest  poke 
out  your  tongue  and  taste  it,  honey.     Ain't  it  good  ?  " 

And  they  stood  with  their  nice  red  tongues  poked 
out — way,  way  out,  tasting  and  tasting  this  ice-cream 
sent  from  heaven. 


88  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

"  Nuffin'  much  to  taste,"  sighed  the  Chocolate 
Baby  finally,  when  his  poor  little  tongue  ached  at 
its  very  roots  from  tasting  so  hard.  "  They're  stingy 
with  their  sugar,  Betty." 

Mercy!  Brown  Betty  wrinkled  her  dear  brown 
forehead.  It  would  never  do  to  call  the  angels 
stingy.  So  she  fell  back  on  an  old  promise  she  had 
made  over  and  over  since  they  came  up  North. 
"  Now  looky  here,  you  little  cry-baby,  you.  I'se 
gwine  ter  tie  you  to  the  porch  and  leave  you  here 
by  your  lonesome  while  I  goes  back  to  work,  and  if 
you'se  powerful  good  and  quiet,  then  I'se  sure  gudne 
to  fetch  you  a  little  white  folk's  baby  to  play  with. 
Yes,  sir,  a  little  white  baby  with  blue  eyes.  So  mind 
you're  quiet,  honey." 

And  he  was  quiet,  patiently  tasting  tasteless  snow 
all  afternoon,  held  by  the  wonderful  promise  of  a 
little  white  playmate.  But  alas!  It  was  the  same 
old  disappointing  story:  Brown  Betty  never  fetched 
that  baby  after  all.  Which  was  the  reason  why  the 
Chocolate  Baby  absolutely  refused  to  be  good  or 
quiet  or  nice  all  the  following  day. 

"  I  wants  a  little  white  baby,"  he  yelled  over  and 
over  and  over,  in  piercing  yells,  until  Brown  Betty 
wondered  if,  in  the  whole  wide  world  of  little  girls, 
there  was  one  who  had  such  problems  as  hers:  all 
the  housework  for  the  boarders  to  be  done  by  even- 
ing, all  the  washing  of  their  clothes,  while  mammv 
was  off  working,  as  well  as  all  the  care  of  this 
troublesome  Chocolate  Baby,  with  never  a  white 
baby  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood  to  be  borrowed. 

And  then,  out  of  a  clear  sky,  the  white  baby  came 


BEOWN  BETTY  89 

tumbling  down,  not  all  in  one  piece,  you  understand, 
but  in  millions  of  separate  pieces  called  snow.  And 
Brown  Betty  rolled  the  snow  into  arms  and  legs,  and 
stuck  them  in  a  nice  round  snow  body,  with  a  little 
round  snow  head  at  the  top,  and  two  bits  of  blue 
paper  for  eyes — until  it  became  as  nice  a  white  play- 
mate as  any  Chocolate  Baby  could  desire.  He  rolled 
his  astonished  eyes  until  nothing  but  the  whites 
showed. 

"  O — !  "  he  gasped,  "  it's  a  little  ice-cream  baby. 
Did  them  angels  send  it  down  from  hebben  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  that's  jest  what  they  done,  honey  chile," 
said  Betty  quietly,  for  surely  it  was  angels  who  put 
it  into  her  head  to  make  the  little  baby  out  of  snow. 
So  she  tied  him  to  the  porch,  and  all  day  there  was 
never  a  cry  nor  a  whimper.  He  just  talked  and 
talked  to  his  ice-cream  baby. 

And  it  was  there  that  Miss  Missionary  saw  him  as 
she  was  passing  by.  Saw  him  kiss  the  snow  lips  and 
chuckle :  "  Powerful  cold  mouth,  you  poor  li'l'  ice- 
cream baby,  you !  "  You  may  be  sure  Miss  Mission- 
ary opened  the  wicket  gate  and  went  inside  the  yard 
to  make  friends.  The  Chocolate  Baby  proved  easy 
to  become  acquainted  with ;  in  ten  minutes  she  found 
out  how  the  dear  good  angels  had  let  the  ice-cream 
baby  fall  from  heaven  to  be  his  special  playmate,  be- 
cause he  had  to  be  alone  all  day  while  Betty  slaved 
indoors.  Brown  Betty  herself  came  shyly  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  Miss  Missionary  saw  at  a  glance  that 
she  was  too  little  to  be  such  a  maid-of-all-work. 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  school,  my  dear ;  you're  noth- 
ing but  a  baby  yourself  !  " 


90  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

"  I  reckon  I'm  dreadful  little  for  my  age,  but  I'm 
the  onliest  gal  my  mammy's  got,  so  I  jest  has  to 
work !  " 

But  you  and  I  thought  differently.  You  and  I  and 
our  mothers  and  fathers,  and  the  other  people  in  our 
church.  We  knew  all  along  there  were  going  to  be 
Brown  Betties  and  Chocolate  Babies  coming  North 
to  our  town,  so  we  built  a  house  called  a  Negro 
Community  Center.  And  we  put  Miss  Missionary  in 
charge  to  change  everything  for  girls  like  little 
Brown  Betty;  for  the  first  thing  you  knew,  Miss 
Missionary  had  persuaded  Mammy  Chloe  that  the 
North  was  very  different  from  the  South,  and  that 
Betty  really  must  go  to  school.  So  she  did.  And 
the  Chocolate  Baby  spent  his  mornings  and  after- 
noons at  the  Baby  Nursery  at  the  Center,  while  his 
mammy  worked.  His  mammy  and  her  boarders 
liked  that  Center:  they  liked  the  concerts  in  the 
evenings,  and  the  classes  and  the  clubs.  Brown 
Betty  liked  them,  too.    So  did  the  boys,  her  brothers. 

They  were  so  much  happier,  they  hardly  seemed 
like  the  same  family.  And  every  once  in  a  while 
Brown  Betty  chuckles  and  says  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
the  ice-cream  baby  maybe  Miss  Missionary  would 
never  have  come  into  their  front  yard.  But  you  and 
I  know  better.  The  thing  that  worries  me  is  that 
there  are  towns  and  towns  and  towns  without  a 
single  Christian  Center,  and  there  are  other  Brov  n 
Betties  and  other  Chocolate  Babies,  lonesome,  fret- 
ful, friendless — what  shall  we  do  about  it?  You  and 
I? 


XIV 
THE  GHOST  AROUND  THE  CORNER 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  were  twenty  sheets. 
And  the  twenty  sheets  belonged  on  twenty 
beds  in  twenty  different  homes,  but  there 
came  a  certain  evening  on  the  last  day  in  October 
when  those  twenty  sheets  were  carried  to  church, 
and  were  draped  around  twenty  little  boys  and  girls. 
Some  of  the  boys  wore  false  faces,  and  made  hor- 
rible noises  down  in  their  throats.  And  some  o£  the 
girls  carried  Jack-o'-lanterns,  but  they  also  made 
dreadful  noises  in  their  throats,  so  that  there  were 
suddenly  twenty  ghosts  spooking  around  the  building 
in  the  most  mysterious  way.  But  none  of  them  were 
afraid  of  one  another,  because  they  knew  it  was  just 
a  Hallowe'en  party,  and  that  to-morrow  they  would 
be  ordinary  boys  and  girls  again. 

But  poor  little  Black  Joe  did  not  know  a  thing 
about  this  party  or  about  what  kind  of  ghosts  these 
particular  ghosts  were.  All  he  knew  was  that  about 
seven  o'clock  he  was  hurrying  home  in  the  dark 
from  the  store  where  he  helped  deliver  packages, 
when  mercy  sakes,  he  saw  a  spook!  Yes,  sir,  as 
plain  as  day  he  saw  that  spook  ooze  around  the  cor- 
ner in  its  silent  spooky  way,  then  making  a  rattling 

91 


92  NEXT-DOOR  IsElGHBORS 

sound  in  its  throat  it  swished  inside  the  door  of  the 
big  dark  church. 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  prayed  Httle  Black  Joe,  his  heart 
beating  Hke  a  trip-hammer,  "  Oh,  Lord,  I  done  seed 
a  ghost,  and  I  reckon  I'se  gwine  ter  die !  Oh,  Lord, 
I'se  done  been  a  drefful  bad  h'l'  boy,  but  won't  you 
save  me  jest  this  onct?    Amen!  " 

But  no  sooner  had  he  opened  his  eyes,  than  there 
was  another  ghost  close  beside  him.  He  tried  to  run 
— oh,  surely  nobody  ever  tried  to  run  so  hard  be- 
fore, but  he  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground  as  trees  are 
rooted ;  all  the  "  go  "  was  absolutely  gone  from  his 
feet! 

"  Oh,  please.  Lord,"  he  started  to  pray  again, 
when  this  new  ghost  came  nearer  yet  and  ripped 
away  his  little  false  face,  and  pulled  off  his  spooky 
sheet,  and  behold !  there  stood  a  little  boy  as  black  as 
Black  Joe  himself. 

"  Now  look  a-here,  you  poor  darky,"  said  the  ex- 
ghost  cheerfully,  "  I'se  powerful  sorry  I  done  scart 
you  so.  For  this  here  is  jest  a  party,  and  I  don't 
see  why  you  shouldn't  be  a  ghost  yourself.  It  sure 
am  good  fun.  Supposing  we  be  twin  ghosts,  you 
and  me;  we'll  wind  this  here  sheet  'round  the  both 
of  us,  then  we'll  groan — oh,  won't  we  groan?  So 
come  along ! " 

And  Black  Joe  went  along.  For  you  car"'  be 
scared  of  a  little  negro  boy  who  is  exactly  as  black 
as  you  are,  one  who  has  twinkling  eyes  and  wants  to 
play  ghost  with  you.  It  was  great  fun  being  spooks 
under  one  sheet,  and  long  before  they  wanted  to 
stop,    a    voice    from    the    church    doorway    called: 


THE  GHOST  ABOUND  THE  COENER  93 

"  Boys !  Boys !  Come  in  now — the  games  are  be- 
ginning." 

And  would  you  believe  it?  But  ghosts  sprang  out 
from  every  shadow,  and  trooped  obediently  indoors, 
where  there  were  tubs  full  of  apples  to  be  bobbed 
for. 

You  should  have  seen  Black  Joe  duck  his  head 
right  into  the  tub — he'd  bite  an  apple  before  any  one 
else,  he  boasted.  And  he  did !  So  the  teacher  started 
to  praise  him  for  it,  then  suddenly  found  she  didn't 
know  him  at  all.  Indeed,  she  said  she  thought  she 
had  never  even  laid  eyes  on  him  before,  had  she  ? 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  acknowledged,  in  a  very  meek 
and  timid  voice,  "  I'm  jest  pretending  to  be  a  reg- 
galer  ghost." 

"  Oh,"  she  laughed,  "  why  don't  you  join  and  be  a 
regular  one  from  now  on  ?  " 

"Could  I?"  he  beamed,  "could  I?  oh,  hallelu- 
jah!" 

So  he  joined,  and  she  wrote  his  name  and  ad- 
dress in  a  book;  but  he  never  quite  knew  what  he 
had  joined  because  the  party  itself  kept  going  on  and 
on.  So  he  played  as  he  had  never  dreamed  of  play- 
ing before.  Then  the  big  lights  were  put  out,  and 
only  the  candles  in  the  Jack-o'-lanterns  were  left 
to  grin  at  the  twenty-one  ghosts  while  they  gobbled 
ice-cream  and  cake. 

It  was  a  wonderful  party.  But  it  stopped 
promptly  at  nine  o'clock.  He  went  home  to  bed  the 
happiest  boy  in  town. 

Then  the  next  evening  when  he  reached  home  his 
mother  said  to  him :  "  Say,  you  little  Black  Joe,  you  I 


94  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

Why  ain't  you  telling  your  mammy  about  joining 
centers  and  churches  and  all  such  things  as  that? 
Land  sakesi  who  should  come  walking  in  on  me, 
this  very  day,  but  a  lady  with  a  lily-white  card  for 
me  to  sign,  and  then  I  hears  how  you  done  been  to 
a  Hallowe'en  party  and  joined  a  Center." 

"  Oh,  say  now,  mammy,  I  was  aiming  to  tell  you 

all  about  it,  but "  and  here  poor  little  Black  Joe 

broke  down. 

"  Now,  honey  chile,  I  allows  there  ain't  nothing 
wrong  in  what  you  done.  'Cause  why,  I've  joined, 
too !  Yes,  sir,  me  and  pappy,  we've  both  signed  up. 
And  Seraphina  she's  signed,  and  all  the  little  pic- 
caninnies, too!  And  say,  honey,  I  reckon  there 
weren't  never  a  white  lady  so  nice  and  understanding 
as  this  here  white  lady  of  yours.  For  it  seems  that 
that  there  church  of  hers  is  run  by  white  folks  for 
black  folks  like  you  and  me.  Yes,  sir,  they  heard  tell 
how  many  of  us  negroes  has  come  up  North  just  re- 
cently, so  they  built  this  house  on  purpose  for  us  to 
use  on  week-days.  And  it's  just  around  the  comer. 
Sakes  alive,  but  I'm  glad  you  joined,  honey  boy, 
'cause  now  we  can  all  be  friends  with  somebody  in 
this  strange  new  city.  Old  man  Lonesome,  he  won't 
sit  on  our  doorstep  no  more ! " 

All  of  which  is  what  that  ghost  around  the  comer 
did  for  little  Black  Joe.  And  it's  one  of  the  ways 
that  Christians  have  of  making  their  House-with-a- 
Steeple  walk  right  Into  negro  homes,  both  in  your 
town  and  my  town,  and  other  towns,  too. 


THE  MOUNTAINEERS 

XV 

SISSY  SUNBONNET  AND  BUDDY 
BAREFOOT 


C 


ARRYING  a  pail  of  water  from  the  brook, 
Bud  and  Sissy  trudged  up-hill  for  all  the 
world  like 

"  Jack  and  Jill 
Went  up  the  hill 
To  fetch  a  pail  of  water." 

Only  instead  of  this  particular  Jill  falling  down  and 
breaking  her  crown,  she  merely  stopped  stock-still 
and  said  to  Buddy  Barefoot :  "  For  the  land  sakes, 
if  we-uns  ain't  got  a  caller!  See — there's  a  stranger 
in  the  cornfield  a-talkin'  with  pappy.  I  reckon 
maybe  he's  plumb  lost  his  road  up  here  in  our  mount- 
ings." 

"  Dunno,"  said  Buddy  Barefoot,  "  reckon  puts  me 
in  mind  of  him  as  come  along  year  before  last " 

"  Uh-huh,"  nodded  Sookie,  "  that  man  as  aimed  to 
get  us  all  plumb  sot  on  leavin'  these  here  mountings 
and  goin'  down  to  his  mill  town  to  work  in  cotton 
factories?  I  ain't  forgot  that  'man,  nor  how  our 
neighbors  were  powerful  took  up  with  all  the  fine 
promises  he  give  them,  but  I  reckon  Samanthy  ain't 
so  perky  'bout  cotton  factories,  not  since  she  was 
fetched  back  to  the  mountings." 

95 


96  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

**  No,"  sighed  Buddy  sadly,  "  in  them  cotton  fac- 
tories I've  heard  tell  the  air's  full  of  flecks  of  lint 
■what  forever  tickles  in  your  nose  and  chokes  you 
and  fust  thing  you  know  on,  you's  sick " 

"  That's  how  Samanthy  got  took  so  bad.  She  says 
as  how  she  stood  all  day  penned  in  little  narrow 
lanes  of  clanging,  banging  shuttles,  she  lays  you  needs 
about  a  hundred  eyes  and  hands  to  look  and  leap 
and  reach  and  tie  them  broken  threads.  She  lays 
you  don't  dream  of  all  the  trouble  that  goes  to  make 
calico  dresses.  No,  I  reckon  pappy  won't  take  up 
with  stranger  folks  again." 

But  just  then  their  father  spied  them  shyly  hiding 
in  the  bushes.  "  Halloo !  "  he  shouted,  "  you-uns 
come  along  here,  Bud  and  Sissy ! " 

Unwillingly  they  walked  to  meet  the  stranger. 
"  This  here  is  all  the  kids  I  got,  mister,  and  I  reckon 
if  you-uns  can  cram  book-larnin'  In  'em,  me  and 
mammy  won't  fetch  no  objections." 

The  stranger  smiled.  "  Bud  and  Sookie  look  quite 
puzzled,  so  let  me  explain  that  I'm  a  missionary  sent 
up  here  in  the  mountains  to  persuade  the  girls  and 
boys  in  these  log  cabins  to  come  down  into  the  val- 
ley to  attend  a  mission  school.  To  learn  to  read  and 
write,  you  know,  and  how  to  farm  so  that  your  crops 
will  be  double  what  your  father  ever  raised." 

Sookie  shook  her  head :  "  I  reckon  I'll  stay  put  In 
these  here  mountings.  We  had  some  neighbors  onct 
plumb  sot  on  goin'  down  to  the  valley,  fetched  there 
by  grand  promises — but  Samanthy  she  took  sick  with 
coughing,  and  Tenesee  he's  awful  poorly,  too." 

"  Besides,"  said  Buddy  Barefoot,  "  I  figger  these 


SISSY  SUNBONNET  97 

here  cornfields  ain't  never  goin'  to  fetch  no  bigger 
crops  than  pappy  gets." 

But  the  stranger  talked  and  talked.  He  even 
stayed  to  supper  and  helped  mammy  cook  the  hunks 
of  bacon  on  the  open  hearth.  "  It's  this  w^ay,"  he 
explained  to  her,  "  a  boy  who's  lived  in  God's  great 
clean  outdoors  has  the  best  sort  of  a  beginning. 
There's  no  telling  v^hat  he  might  become.  Suppose 
he  should  some  day  be  president  of  these  United 
States?" 

Buddy's  mother  sat  back  on  her  heels  and  pointed 
with  the  frying  pan  at  Buddy :  "  What  ?  Him — 
president  ?    Do  tell !  " 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  the  stranger,  and  told  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  another  Kentucky  boy  who  lived 
in  just  such  a  poor  log  cabin  with  just  such  a  father, 
farming  hopeless  acres  of  rocks  and  barren  fields. 

"  I  reckon  I've  heard  tell  of  this  here  Abe  Lincoln 
afore,"  said  pappy ;  "  he  fetched  up  at  the  White 
House  down  in  Washington,  they  tells  me." 

"  He  did !  "  the  stranger  said,  "  but  he's  not  the 
only  log  cabin  boy  to  become  famous.  Ever  hear  of 
Andrew  Jackson,  born  in  a  log  hut  in  North  Caro- 
lina, reared  in  the  pinewoods  ?  Ever  hear  of  James 
K.  Polk  and  James  Buchanan  and  James  A.  Garfield  ? 
Every  one  of  them  log  cabin  boys,  reared  in  wilder- 
ness homes  like  this,  as  poor  as  Buddy.  My  friends, 
if  all  these  men  could  rise  from  hopeless  poverty  to 
rule  so  wisely  over  other  men,  then  it  was  due  to 
studying  day  and  night." 

"  I  reckon  you're  hitting  the  nail  on  the  head," 
said  pappy,  smoking  his  corn-cob  pipe. 


98  NEXT-DOOE  KEIGHBOES 

"  Look-a-here,"  said  Sookie,  "  this  here  school 
you-ims  cracks  up  so  grand,  it  ain't  no  factory,  be 
it?  No  place  Hke  where  Samanthy  and  a  lot  of 
mountain  children  weaves  cotton  till  they  nearly 
dies?  Bud  nor  me  ain't  aimin'  to  be  fetch  into  no 
prison,  mister." 

"  My  dear,"  the  stranger  sard,  "  haven't  I  made  it 
clear  that  this  is  God's  school,  a  Christian  place 
where  every  teacher  loves  the  Bible?  Come  now, 
here's  a  Bible — did  you  ever  see  one  before?" 

Mammy  reached  out  and  laid  a  work-worn  finger 
on  it  piously.  "  Do  tell !  "  she  gasped,  "  so  that's  a 
Bible.  I  reckon  they  ain't  never  seed  one,  stranger, 
bein'  as  I  never  seed  one  afore  myself.  Pappy,  I 
reckon  we  better  sends  the  children  down  the  mount- 
ings to  that  there  valley  school.  I  reckon,  pappy,  if 
we  got  a  president  a-livin'  in  this  here  cabin  we  had 
ought  to  give  him  his  book  lamin'  right  off;  'twould 
be  plumb  foolish  not  to  take  this  chanct." 

"  I  reckon  the  old  woman's  said  it,  mister,"  pappy 
nodded.     "  We-uns  will  leave  him  go." 

Buddy  merely  gasped :  "  Say,  leave  me  hold  that 
Bible  in  me  hand,  mister.  Sissy,  do  you  reckon  I'll 
be  readin'  this  myself  come  next-a-year  ?  " 

Sookie  sniffed  disdainfully.  "  I'll  maybe  not  be 
chose  a  president,"  she  said,  "but  I  reckon  I'll  be 
readin'  that  there  Book  as  quick  as  you,  Bud  Bare- 
foot.   I'm  aimin'  to  get  schoolin'  there  myself." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Buddy  graciously. 


XVI 

LILIES   OF  THE   VALLEY 

{Reported  by  a  Senior  Who  Was  Present) 

YOU  will  never  quite  understand  what  Mrs, 
Thayer  did  for  all  of  us  mountaineer  girls 
juntil  I  explain  how  we  voted — yes,  actually 
voted! — of  our  own  free  will,  to  go  without  an  Eas- 
ter vacation  and  stay  on  at  school.  Even  the  older 
girls  felt  just  the  same  as  Sookie  and  Samanthy — 
little  first-year  pupils  who  share  my  room.  They 
came  tumbling  in  excitedly  after  the  vote  was  taken. 

"  Well,"  cried  Sookie,  "  ain't  we  said  it's  a  right 
smart  piece  to  walk  over  the  mountings  back  to 
home?  I  reckon  my  mammy's  spoilin'  to  see  me, 
but  it's  plumb  foolish  not  to  stay  here  for  Easter." 

How  Samanthy  laughed!  "  You-uns  talks  like 
you'd  been  gettin'  book-larnin'  since  you  wuz  knee- 
high-to-a-grasshopper !  This  bein'  March,  Sookie,  I 
recollect  only  last  November  seein'  you  in  a  calico 
sunbonnet  walkin'  over  those  there  mountings  to  this 
here  school,  side  by  side  with  me,  fetchin'  your  shoes 
in  your  hand  to  save  wearin'  them !  " 

Sookie  frowned.  "  Looky-here,  Samanthy,  I  ain't 
ashamed  of  my  faded  sunbonnets  nor  my  homespun 
duds  nor  my  old  shoes  which  are  the  onliest  shoes 

99 


100  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOKS 

my  mammy's  ever  owned;  and  I  reckon  you  needn't 
put  on  airs — you-uns  has  a  log  cabin  jest  as  ram- 
shackle nor  mine :  only  two  beds  to  go  around  among 
the  hull  eight  of  you!  /  know!  So  I  tell  you  plain, 
I'm  pinin'  to  stay  put  in  this  here  school  to  hear  that 
famous  preacher-person  from  Noo  York,  what's  his 
name  ?  The  one  what's  jest  been  gettin'  hisself  mar- 
ried. Samanthy,  I  reckon  she  comes,  too,  all  rigged 
up  in  stylish  clothes  special  for  Easter, — oh,  it's 
plumb  foolish  to  miss  her !  " 

Well,  Easter  came,  and  we  passed  the  day  gossip- 
ing mildly  about  the  famous  Dr.  Anselm  Kennedy 
Thayer.  No  doubt  you  yourself  know  all  there  is  to 
tell,  for  everybody  everywhere  swarms  to  hear  him 
preach,  and  although  he  used  to  be  a  bachelor  for 
years-on-end,  he  had  suddenly  married  quite  a  plain 
person,  according  to  fleeting  glimpses  we  had  of  her 
as  they  both  drove  up  to  Prexy's  house  that  Sunday 
noon.  Slender  and  dark  she  was,  but  not  dashing  or 
any  of  the  other  things  we  thought  such  a  prominent, 
handsome  man  ought  to  have  annexed — little  ninnies 
that  we  were  at  that  particular  moment ! 

Nobody  knows  to  this  day  what  Mrs.  Prexy 
served  at  her  dinner,  but  verging  on  four-fifteen 
o'clock  her  chief  guest  suddenly  became  so  ill  that 
any  thought  of  having  the  poor  man  speak  in  chapel 
was  banished  for  this  Easter!  According  to  Clem- 
entina (she  is  Prexy's  next-to-the-youngest  child) 
Dr.  Thayer  simply  said :  "  Mary,  you  speak  in  my 
place ;  I  know  you  can !  "  Mary  being  the  new  wife, 
of  course.  Clementina  says  her  father  was  so  tre- 
mendously  relieved    at   having   the    situation   thus 


LILIES  OF  THE  VALLEY  101 

saved  that  neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Prexy  nor  anybody- 
else  noticed  the  stricken  startled  look  that  descended 
on  the  bride's  face.  But  Clementina  noticed.  Trust 
her!  She's  like  the  old  Jews,  not  a  jot  nor  a  tittle 
doth  she  ever  overlook. 

Oementina  says  she  (Mrs.  Thayer,  that  is)  walked 
out  into  their  garden  and  stood  by  the  sun-dial  for 
almost  half  an  hour,  twisting  her  fingers  until  the 
knuckles  showed  white.  Then  by  and  by,  just  as  the 
chapel  chimes  were  calling  us,  along  toddled  Prexy's 
youngest  hopeful,  carrying  a  bulb.  "  I  brang  you  a 
lily,"  he  piped  up  politely  and  with  horrible  grammar 
added,  "  but  the  lily  ain't  came  outdoors  yet.  You 
see,  she  ain't  got  waked  up  inside  properly." 

And  as  the  great  preacher's  wife  took  the  bulb  in 
her  hand  all  the  paleness  left  her  cheeks.  Oemen- 
tina declares  it  was  as  if  angels  had  rolled  away  a 
stone.  I  don't  know  about  that — but  anyhow,  there 
we  all  sat  in  prim  rows  in  the  chapel  pews,  and  the 
afternoon  sun  filtered  through  the  glass  windows  as 
we  saw  Prexy  lead  her  up  on  the  platform.  She  sat 
in  the  great  carved  cathedral  chair  with  tall  Easter 
lilies  all  around  her,  while  we  sang,  "  Low  in  the 
grave  He  lay,  Jesus  my  Saviour,"  also  other  Easter 
hymns.  And  all  the  time  we  were  thinking,  "  No, 
she  certainly  isn't  much  to  look  at ! " 

Then  Prexy  introduced  her,  and  we  eyed  her  gown 
critically  as  she  stood  there,  slender  as  the  lilies 
themselves  in  that  radiant  light,  with  the  gold  organ 
pipes  gleaming  behind  her.  And  every  single  nasty 
little  one  of  us  was  thinking,  "  She's  plumb  plain,  for 
sure ! " 


102  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

She  laid  her  folded  hands  on  the  carved  pulpit 
desk,  and  this  is  what  she  said:  "All  my  life  I  have 
wanted  to  be  very  beautiful,  so  beautiful  that  people 
would  turn  on  the  street  to  look  at  me, — I  wonder  if 
you  know  what  I  mean,  any  of  you? " 

Know?  Good  gracious!  Why,  it  was  exactly 
what  I  was  wishing  myself !  Only  of  course  I  men- 
tally added,  "  But  I  reckon  I'm  prettier  than  you  this 
minute !  "  And  afterwards  the  other  girls  said  they 
were  thinking  the  very  same  thing,  too. 

Without  realizing  it,  I  can  see  now  that  we  must 
have  all  been  won  over  by  that  first  remark  of  hers, 
each  of  us  understanding  how  she  must  hate  being 
plain!  When  she  had  us  at  this  stage  she  opened 
her  folded  hands  and  showed  us  the  bulb,  telling  us 
what  Prexy's  son  had  said :  "  I  brang  you  a  lily  bulb 
— but  the  lily  ain't  came  outdoors  yet.  You  see,  she 
ain't  got  waked  up  inside  properly." 

"And  that's  the  only  reason  I'm  not  beautiful  yet, 
myself,"  she  added,  quoting  whimsically,  "  *  You  see, 
/  ain't  got  waked  up  inside  properly! '  " 

Well,  you  could  have  rolled  me  over  with  a  straw 
I  was  so  astonished — and  interested.  Nobody  in 
chapel  had  ever  held  us  so  spellbound ;  even  gnarled 
old  Prexy  looked  transfixed.  So  on  top  of  this 
strange  introduction,  with  a  clear,  mellow  voice,  she 
began  reading  us  all  of  that  marvellous  fifty-third 
chapter  of  Isaiah.  Wave  upon  wave  of  sadness 
surged  over  me,  it  suddenly  sounded  so  exquisite.  I 
can't  quote  much  that  she  said  after  that — not  being 
a  born  reporter — ^but  she  kept  holding  that  ugly  bulb 
in  her  hand  all  the  time  as  she  read  and  reread  one 


LILIES  OF  THE  YALLET  103 

of  the  verses  describing  Christ :  "A  root  out  of  dry 
ground — ^he  hath  no  form  nor  comehness — yet  when 
yvQ  shall  see  him  there  is  no  beauty  that  we  should 
desire  him."  "  Beauty  "  was  His  because  inside  He 
had  awakened — out  of  the  ugly  root,  this  flawless 
loveliness ;  and  she  quoted  "  The  Crystal  Christ "  by 
Sidney  Lanier,  Curious  it  was,  too,  for  we  had  had 
that  poem  in  English  class  some  weeks  before,  and 
nobody  thrilled.     Yet  now ! 

Then  with  quick  sketches  she  began  telling  us  of 
girls,  ugly,  uninteresting,  cramped  girls — mere  brown 
bulbs.  One  of  them  Mary  Lyon,  a  poor,  little  crea- 
ture in  clothes  so  awkward  and  poor  that  they  looked 
like  a  bran  sack  tied  around  the  middle  with  a  string; 
yet,  because  she  waked  up,  Mt.  Holyoke  College 
stands  as  a  memorial  to  her  for  what  she  has  done 
for  women  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

There  was  another  dull  drab  girl,  cramped  by 
threadbare  poverty  and  continual  sickness,  fighting 
consumption  and  a  hundred  other  obstacles,  until 
there  waked  up  in  Alice  Freeman  Palmer  beauty  so 
strong  and  powerful  than  it  could  make  Wellesley 
College.  And  an  old  farmer's  wife  said :  "  When  I 
met  her  on  the  hill  one  afternoon  she  was  the  fairest 
object  in  the  landscape,  and  all  the  day  was  brighter 
after  I  saw  her.  I  cut  her  picture  out  of  the  news- 
paper and  pasted  it  up  where  I  could  see  it,  and 
every  day  I  say  I  will  try  to  be  a  better  woman  be- 
cause she  lived." 

With  rapid  word  pictures  she  took  us  all  around 
the  world,  into  little  mud  huts  somewhere  in  the 
Orient  where  a  quaint  little  brown  woman  would 


104  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

be  crouching  over  a  smoky  fire,  but  when  she  looked 
up  in  greeting — behold,  the  beauty  of  hoHness  dwelt 
in  her  eyes !  India,  China,  Africa,  America,  every- 
where, brown  homeliness  was  becoming  lovely. 

Then  she  told  of  a  forlorn  little  New  York  gutter- 
snipe, clutching  something  secretly  inside  his  coat. 

"  Whatcher  got  ?  "  asked  a  curious  pal. 

"  I  got  a  bottle  of  perfume,"  the  little  fellow 
whispered  back  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

"  Aw,  go  on !  I  don't  believe  ya !  Take  the  cork 
out,  buddy,  and  leave  me  have  a  smell !  " 

"  And  so,"  ended  Mrs.  Thayer,  her  face  like  a 
resurrection  angel's,  "  when  they  tell  me  you  moun- 
taineer girls  are  cold  and  unresponsive  I  always  say, 
*Oh,  but  I  don't  believe  it,  just  take  the  cork  out: 
there'll  be  sweet  perfume  there — just  smell,  and 
see !  *  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  bulbs  again,  the  beauty 
is  there,  but  it  hasn't  waked  up  yet.  So  to  every  one 
of  us  the  Master  is  saying  to-day  as  He  said  to  the 
daughter  of  Jairus :  '  Get  up,  little  girl,  get  up ! '"     " 

Then  Prexy  prayed  as  if  he  knew  God  was  un- 
usually near  by ;  after  which  we  all  trooped  up  front 
to  shake  hands  with  her,  one  by  one.  But  it  wasn't 
until  after  supper  that  we  exchanged  confidences 
about  this  and  discovered  that  every  blessed  one  of 
us  had  begun  as  follows :  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Thayer,  if  I  can 
ever  be  half  as  beautiful  as  you  are !  " 

For  suddenly  we  knew  we  were  nothing  but  awk- 
ward, clumsy  bulbs,  wrapped  up  in  crazy,  crackly 
layers  of  outer  flimsiness.  It  was  indeed  high  time 
we  began  to — consider  the  lilies!  Lilies  of  the 
Appalachian  valleys ! 


THE  INDIANS 

XVII 
LITTLE  SQUAW  LAUGHS-AT-THE-SKY 

NOT  an  Indian  in  all  that  tribe  had  ever 
received  a  letter,  so  the  missionary- 
woman's  mail  v^^as  just  one  more  surpris- 
ing thing  about  her.  Suddenly  from  unknown  places 
hidden  way  across  the  desert  would  come  a  square  of 
•whiteness,  all  sealed  up,  with  a  red  stamp  in  the 
corner  and  some  scrawls  in  the  center.  And  the 
white  woman  would  smile  all  over  her  tired  white 
face  as  she  tore  the  envelope  open.  "A  letter,  he 
heap  good  medicine,"  the  people  said,  and  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  whole  wide  world  little  Squaw 
Laughs-at-the-Sky  wished  for  a  letter  all  her  own 
some  day.  Oh,  the  vast  importance  of  it!  You 
shall  hear  how  finally  her  dream  came  true,  but 
meanwhile  I  must  tell  you  of  a  letter  which  came  at 
Thanksgiving  time  with  such  delightful  news  that 
our  missionary  lady  simply  had  to  share,  and  nat- 
urally chose  Laughs-at-the-Sky,  who  was  a  friendly 
little  soul,  with  a  pleasant  fashion  of  arriving  early 
at  the  mission  to  get  everything  ready  and  of  staying 
late  to  straighten  things  back  properly.  Surely  such 
devotion  merited  a  secret ! 

So  the  day  the  splendid  letter  came  the  missionary 
whispered :  "  Be  sure  to  stay  after  school  for  I  have 

105 


106  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

something  special,  dear."  All  day  she  waited  with 
grim  Indian  patience,  until  finally  she  heard  the 
splendid  news  from  the  white  woman's  letter  that  a 
certain  barrel  was  on  its  way  to  their  reservation,  a 
barrel  crammed  full  of  everything  desirable  for  a  big 
Christmas  celebration,  sent  by  the  missionary's 
church  far  away  across  the  many  deserts.  It  had 
crept  into  their  hearts  how  alone  she  must  be  feeling, 
one  white  person  in  the  midst  of  all  the  red  men,  so 
the  ladies  in  the  church  and  the  children  in  the  Sun- 
day-school had  brought  things  and  brought  things 
.and  brought  things !  There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to 
the  list  of  articles  that  church  had  sent :  one  class  of 
little  girls  had  made  two  dozen  work-bags  and  filled 
them  full  of  spools  of  silk,  thimbles  and  pincushions ; 
another  class  had  dressed  a  dozen  dolls  with  dresses 
that  unbuttoned  in  a  very  grown-up  fashion ;  a  class 
of  boys  had  saved  sufficient  money  to  buy  more  toys 
than  they  had  dreamed  of  getting;  and  besides  all 
this  there  were  aprons  for  the  women  and  neckties 
for  the  men,  and  candy  for  everybody.  Do  you  won- 
der that  the  missionary  had  to  share  such  unexpected 
news? 

"  But  above  everything  else,  Laughs-at-the-Sky, 
we  must  keep  it  a  dead  secret,  you  and  I !  Not  an- 
other soul  must  know  of  it,  you  understand  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  smiled  the  beaming  child,  and  scam- 
pered to  her  wigwam  to  dream  sweet  dreams  of 
coming  glory.  But  in  the  morning — well,  how  shall 
I  tell  it?  But  she  thought  how  important  she  might 
seem  if  she  simply  intimated  that  she  knew  a  splendid 
secret !    And  she  said  to  Tinkling  Beads :  "  Heap 


UTTLE  SQUAW  LAUGHS- AT-THE-SKY    107 

fine  secrets  in  my  head,"  and  she  knocked  her  Uttle 
fingers  on  her  forehead. 

"  Tinkhng  Beads,  she  keep  it  plenty  secret,  too," 
begged  Tinkhng  Beads,  imploringly. 

So  underneath  a  lonely  pine  tree  Laughs-at-the- 
Sky  told  every  word  of  the  dead  secret,  and  made 
Tinkling  Beads  promise  not  to  tell  any  one  else. 

But  after  Tinkling  Beads  had  also  dreamed  sweet 
dreams  of  Christmas,  she  longed  to  seem  important 
in  the  eyes  of  Many  Feathers,  so  she  told  him  in 
dead  secrecy  about  the  splendid  barrel.  He,  too, 
promised  not  to  tell,  but  before  he  knew  it  he  had 
told  Black  Clouds,  and  presently  Black  Clouds  told 
Swift-Feet-upon-the-Plain,  until  you  can  see  for 
yourself  how  the  secret  was  spreading  and  spread- 
ing until  it  was  hardly  a  secret  at  all,  any  more! 
But  the  missionary  never  dreamed  how  it  was  being 
whispered,  although  poor  Laughs-at-the-Sky  was 
trembling  very  uneasily — was  this  secret  never 
going  to  stop  going  the  rounds? 

Day  followed  day,  and  night  followed  night  until 
December  twenty-first  had  come,  and  the  missionary 
was  decidedly  uneasy, — for  the  barrel  had  not  yet 
arrived! 

"  Only  four  more  days,"  she  groaned  to  Laughs- 
at-the-Sky.  "  But  luckily,  even  if  it  shouldn't 
come,  no  one  will  be  the  wiser  except  you  and  my 
disappointed  self!  We'll  just  have  carols  and  reci- 
tations, and  no  one  need  ever  know  about  the  gifts 
that  never  came." 

Cold  chills  rippled  up  and  down  the  spine  of 
Laughs-at-the-Sky.      Oh!      Oh!      Oh!      If    Miss 


108  ITEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

Missionary  only  knew  how  many  Indian  hands  were 
already  pretending  to  finger  the  promised  presents. 
Should  she  tell  what  an  unfortunate  blunder  she  had 
made  ?  But  no,  she  could  not  bear  to  think  of  those 
blue  eyes  filled  with  new  reproachful  glances.  So 
she  kept  silent,  while  her  eyes  were  always  on  the 
desert  watching  for  the  arrival  of  a  barrel.  And  at 
night  she  prayed  a  prayer  to  the  Lord  God,  as  fol- 
lows :  "  Me  plenty  scared  of  Christmas,  God ;  me 
heap  need  that  white  man's  barrel.  Red  man,  he  all 
ready  for  that  barrel.  You  send  it  on  quick  feet. 
Amen." 

But  the  twenty-third  came  and  passed,  and  the 
twenty-fourth  was  half-way  over  when  behold,  the 
barrel  came.  Delightfully  heavy!  Miss  Mission- 
ary could  hardly  wait  to  get  the  top  off,  she  was  so 
eager  to  unpack  it.  Little  did  she  guess  why  Laughs- 
at-the-Sky  was  late  arriving,  for  the  much-re- 
lieved child  was  saying  to  the  people :  "  God  send 
that  heap  fine  barrel  for  to-morrow."  When  the 
good  news  had  travelled  far  and  wide,  she  hurried  to 
the  mission-house  and  opening  the  kitchen  door, 
stumbled  in  upon  a  tragic  sight :  the  floor  was  covered 
with  small  oblong  packages,  but  Miss  Missionary's 
head  was  on  a  chair,  and  she  crying  as  if  her  dear 
good  heart  was  breaking. 

"  Oh,  Woman- with-the- Sunset-Hair,"  soothed  lit- 
tle Laughs-at-the-Sky,  "  heap  bad  tears,  me  no  like. 
What  makes  'em  ?  " 

The  missionary  dried  her  eyes  and  said  tragically: 
"  Dear  child,  you're  such  a  comfort.  Imagine  how 
crushed  I  felt  to  find  that  this  entire  barrel  is  full  of 


LITTLE  SQUAW  LAUGHS- AT-THE-SKY    109 

soap — ^just  plain  every-day  soap,  and  not  one  other 
thing !  Oh,  I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes  at  first,  and  I 
dumped  everything  out  of  the  barrel  quickly,  hoping 
there  v^as  something  else.  But  it  was  all  soap! 
Whatever  shall  I  do?  Ohj  I  had  counted  on  those 
presents ! " 

Laughs-at-the-Sky  picked  up  one  of  the  oblong 
packages  and  unwrapped  the  paper  covering.  She 
sniffed  at  the  white  cake  inside  and  wrinkled  her  dear 
little  nose  approvingly.  "  Plenty  good  smell,"  she 
smiled,  "  heap  fine  Christmas  present." 

The  missionary  looked  at  her  in  complete  surprise. 
"What!  Aren't  you  disappointed?  You  really 
think  soap  will  make  a  good  present  ?  " 

Laughs-at-the-Sky  bravely  gulped  down  the  mar- 
ble lump  that  seemed  to  be  sticking  forlornly  in  the 
very  middle  of  her  throat.  "  Plenty  fine  present," 
she  answered,  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

Miss  Missionary  sat  back  on  her  heels  and  stared 
at  the  Indian  girl  admiringly.  "  Behold  a  living 
proverb  of  the  wise  King  Solomon — 'A  merry  heart 
doeth  good  like  a  medicine.'  If  you  can  be  stoical 
and  brave,  so  can  I.  Somehow  or  other  we  will 
have  to  make  soap  seem  the  most  desirable  Christmas 
gift  in  the  whole  world,  dear.  So  attractive  that 
every  red  hand  will  long  to  carry  a  piece  home. 
Now  let  me  see !    Let  me  see ! " 

And  she  began  thinking  of  her  school  days  and 
college  days,  when,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the 
girls  used  to  get  up  little  plays  and  clever  entertain- 
ments. "  The  very  thing ! "  she  whispered  to  her- 
self, at  last,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  planning 


110  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

the  surprise  which  was  to  make  soap  the  great  desire 
of  every  Indian. 

Meanwhile  Laughs-at-the-Sky  quietly  spread  the 
news  that  an  entirely  different  barrel  had  arrived, 
that  the  Woman-with-the-Sunset-Hair  had  feared 
they  would  be  disappointed,  but  that  actually  it  was 
a  most  delicious  barrel  full  of — well,  she  could  not 
tell  them  what!    But  they  would  like  it. 

So  long  before  the  proper  hour  on  Christmas  Day 
the  mission-house  was  packed  to  its  very  doors,  and 
the  Indians,  big  and  little,  grunted  with  delight  to  see 
the  Christmas  tree  all  looped  and  strung  with  pop- 
corn and  gold  stars  and  twinkling  candles.  They 
liked  the  carols,  they  liked  the  recitations,  but  excite- 
ment reached  top  notch  when  their  missionary  was 
led  on  the  platform  by  an  old  Indian  squaw  who 
blindfolded  her  and  tied  her  hands. 

"  Ha !  Ha ! "  taunted  this  old  person,  wickedly, 
"  now  I'll  put  you  through  the  seven  tests,  and  if  you 
fail  to  meet  even  one  of  them  you  shall  eat  no  food 
this  day.  For  I  warn  you  that  seven  Indians  of  this 
tribe  are  making  footprints  towards  your  wigwam 
even  now,  to  ask  for  seven  different  kinds  of  Christ- 
mas presents.  But  unless  you  can  satisfy  all  seven 
of  their  wants  by  one  present  then  you  must  stay 
blindfolded  for  a  week,  oh  Woman-with-the-Sun- 
set-Hair, and  eat  no  food.  Can  you  agree  to  this 
test?" 

"  I  agree ! "  nodded  the  missionary,  and  the  In- 
dians nudged  each  other  and  grunted  in  dismay. 
The  foolish  woman! 

Then  one  by  one  seven  persons  stalked  on  the  plat- 


LITTLE  SQUAW  LAUGHS- AT-THE-SKY    111 

form.  First  came  a  squaw  with  a  papoose  strapped 
on  her  back.  "  Oh  Woman-with-the-Simset-Hair," 
she  begged,  "  have  you  a  little  canoe  to  float  in  water 
for  my  papoose  to  play  with — for  this  is  all  he  wants 
for  Christmas  ?  " 

Second  came  old  Chief  Black  Clouds,  who  said 
forlornly :  "  See  my  pipe  is  empty ;  I  only  wish  for 
something  to  smoke  in  it !  " 

Third  came  another  squaw  leading  a  very  little 
boy.  "  Woman-with-the-Sunset  Hair,  my  son  wants 
a  ball  to  toss  in  the  air — and  that  is  all  he  wants  for 
Christmas." 

Fourth  was  a  little  girl.  "  Oh,  Wondrous- Squaw- 
Filled- Full-of-Wisdom,  I  am  a  stupid  child  in  school, 
so  all  I  want  for  Christmas  is  something  to  help  me 
learn  my  A  B  C's." 

Next  came  an  older  boy  with  a  pencil.  "All  I 
want  for  Christmas  is  paper  to  draw  pictures  on." 

Sixth  came  a  pretty  squaw,  her  arms  full  of  soiled 
clothes.  "All  I  need  for  Christmas  is  new  lovely 
clothes." 

Seventh  came  a  very  muddy,  dirty  boy.  "  All  I 
need  for  Christmas  is  something  to  make  me  clean 
again ! " 

You  really  should  have  heard  those  startled  In- 
dians groan  in  sympathy  with  the  missionary's  sad 
test !  For  could  any  one  thing  possibly  be  a  canoe, 
something  to  smoke,  a  ball,  an  A  B  C  primer,  paper, 
something  to  make  old  calico  new  or  to  make  a 
muddy  boy  clean  again?  Of  course  it  was  impos- 
sible ! 

Yet  the  White  One  calmly  said :  "  Yes,  I  can  meet 


112  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

your  seven  tests.  Unbind  my  hands  and  uncovei; 
my  eyes  and  I  will  show  you ! "  Grunts  of  sheer 
delight  rippled  over  the  audience. 

Then  Miss  Missionary  reached  in  her  pocket  and 
pulled  out  a  cake  of  Ivory  soap.  "  Behold,  this  will 
meet  your  every  test.  See,  I  will  prove  it ! "  Un- 
wrapping the  soap  she  floated  it  in  a  basin  of  water. 
"  First  squaw,  behold  a  Christmas  canoe  for  your 
wee  papoose !  As  for  you,  great  Qiief  Black  Clouds, 
here  is  something  new  for  you  to  smoke  in  your 
pipe,"  and  she  lathered  the  soap  into  puffy  suds,  then 
took  a  clay  pipe  and  blew  through  it.  "  Watch  out, 
young  brave,  for  here  is  the  hall  you  wanted  to  play 
with ! "  And  through  the  clay  pipe  she  blew  off  a 
lovely  soap  bubble.  It  floated  through  the  room  and 
every  Indian  gasped  delightedly :  "  Heap  pretty ! 
Heap  pretty ! " 

Then  the  missionary  dried  the  cake  of  soap  and 
said :  "As  for  you,  small  maid  who  wished  an  alpha- 
bet, here  are  five  of  your  A  B  C's  printed  on  the 
whiteness — I-V-O-R-Y — on  this  side,  and  on  the 
other  side  many  more  letters — P-R-O-C-T-O-R, 
etc.     See?" 

Loud  and  long  the  Indians  laughed. 

"And  you,  brave  artist,  here  is  paper  for  your  pic- 
ture, the  paper  in  which  the  soap  was  wrapped. 
While  you,  poor  squaw,  with  old  soiled  calico,  look 
while  I  wash  it  in  these  suds  and  make  the  calico 
as  fresh  as  new.  And  you,  poor  muddy  boy, 
come  here,  for  soap  will  make  you  clean  once 
more." 

When  once  these  seven  tests  were  made  all  that 


LITTLE  SQUAW  LAUGHS- AT-THE-SKY    113 

remained  to  Miss  Missionary  was  to  step  to  the  edge 
of  the  platform  with  her  cake  of  soap.  "  Is  there 
any  Indian  who  would  like  this  soap  which  has  so 
many  uses  ?  " 

"Me!"  "Me!"  "Me  heap  want  that  soap!" 
All  over  the  house  their  voices  called,  rather  ex- 
citedly, too,  for  what  was  one  piece  of  whiteness 
among  so  many?  Each  one  of  them  feared  that 
they  might  be  disappointed,  and  the  children  called: 
"  Tinkling  Beads,  she  want  that  white  canoe  to  float 
in  water,"  or  "  Straight  Arrow,  he  want  that  ball  to 
throw  up  in  the  air."  In  the  midst  of  all  this  hubbub, 
lo  and  behold!  in  came  Laughs-at-the-Sky  dragging 
a  large  basket  with  a  cake  of  soap  for  every  Indian 
present,  big  or  little.  The  smellings  that  they  gave 
that  soap!  The  delighted  sniffs.  "Good  medicine!" 
they  cried.  "  Heap  thank  you,  Woman-with-the- 
Sunset-Hair." 

So  the  day  closed  happily. 

And  four  days  later  came  the  other  barrel  full  of 
all  the  promised  toys  and  dolls.  No  one  but  the  ex- 
press company  somewhere  along  the  line  will  ever 
know  why  the  two  barrels  could  not  have  arrived  to- 
gether. But  certain  it  is  that  that  whole  tribe  loves 
soap  to-day!  They  rub  and  scrub  and  scour  with 
soap,  and  our  missionary  smiles  to  herself  and  often 
says  to  Laughs-at-the-Sky,  "  A  merry  heart  doeth 
good  like  a  medicine.  Learn  to  use  odds  and  ends, 
my  dear,  and  the  Lord  will  always  send  a  blessing." 


XVIII 
OUTSIDE  THE  GATES 

DEACON  IRON  SHIRT  looked  at  his 
granddaughter  silently  and  wagged  his 
poor  old  Indian  head  perplexedly.  Things 
were  certainly  going  wrong  with  this  new  day  and 
generation !  For  here  was  one  ordinary  little  Indian 
maiden  acting  like  some  squaw  of  twice  her  years, 
bossing  every  one  within  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
putting  on  airs  enough  for  twenty  braves  with  toma- 
hawks. The  very  papoose  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
wailed  when  she  began  suggesting  this  and  that 
about  his  diet  and  a  daily  thing  called  baths.  Did 
he  not  know  how  his  old  granny  often  bathed  him  in 
the  summer-time,  heating  the  water  inside  her  mouth 
before  squirting  it  all  ove  •  him !  Surely  that  was 
bad  enough,  without  these  new  suggestions.  He  was 
relieved  indeed  when  his  squaw-mother  strapped  his 
cradle  on  her  back  and  marched  off  with  him  to 
gather  firewood,  muttering  under  her  breath  against 
the  little  tyrant. 

Yet  in  every  Indian  tepee  they  were  holding  spell- 
bound pow-wows  to  discuss  this  little  girl!  All  be- 
cause she  had  been  chosen  by  the  missionary  out  of 
all  their  tribe  the  year  before  to  attend  a  city  school 
and  had  just  returned  brimful  of  new  ideas  about  the 

114 


OUTSIDE  THE  GATES  115 

wide,  wide  world,  and  disgusted  with  the  primitive 
old  tepee  life.  Around  many  a  little  fire  the  Indians 
clustered  to  hear  her  tell  of  cities  where  wigwams 
reared  themselves  up  higher  in  the  air  than  clouds; 
where  water  ran  in  silver  pipes  clear  up  to  the  roof 
so  every  one  could  wash  at  any  time  of  day  or  night ; 
where  no  one  walked  from  place  to  place  on  their 
two  feet  but  rode  luxuriously  in  things  called 
"  autos,"  or,  cheaper  yet,  in  things  called  "  street- 
cars." As  for  churches,  they  were  no  clumsy  cob- 
blestone affairs,  built  helter-skelter  in  a  home-made 
way  like  that  upon  their  Indian  reservation — in 
cities,  churches  were  vast  buildings  with  cushioned 
seats  as  soft  as  clouds  and  the  music  swelled  from 
giant  pipes  of  gleaming  gold.  And  as  for  cooking, 
it  was  done  in  decent  pots  on  decent  kitchen  stoves, 
indoors,  not  out-of-doors  in  queer  old  kettles  black- 
ened by  the  open  fires.  And  in  cities  people  ate  their 
meals  with  knives  and  forks.  Oh,  there  was  no  end 
to  all  the  things  which  she  had  learned  in  one  short 
year  in  that  town  of  Arizona. 

"  She  one  heap  fine  girl,"  sighed  all  the  jealous 
maidens. 

"  She  got  one  plenty  good  idea  about  herself," 
sighed  the  braves.  But  Deacon  Iron  Shirt  kept  his 
opinion  to  himself,  merely  saying,  "  That  new  Big 
Chief  of  this  whole  place.  Big  Chief  Harding,  did 
you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  my  yes ! "  cried  Small  Ankles,  indiffer- 
ently. "  I  know  him  very  well  indeed.  What  else  do 
you  suppose,  living  in  such  a  big  place  ?  " 

"  She  one  heap  friend  with  Big  Chief  Harding," 


116  lifEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

was  whispered  like  chain  hghtning  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  But  Deacon  Iron  Shirt  kept  silent,  though 
presently  he  said :  "As  for  that  chief  whose  foot  was 
on  the  war-path,  General  Pershing,  did  you  sit  down 
in  peace  with  him  in  the  big  city,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  yawned  poor  Small  Ankles,  bored  to  death, 
"  he  was  around  most  of  the  time,  of  course."  And 
several  Indian  braves  who  had  fought  in  France  with 
Pershing  asked  her  questions  which  she  was  hard  put 
to  it  to  answer,  but  she  kept  it  up,  although  these 
were  the  biggest  boastings  that  she  made;  the  rest 
were  smaller,  less  important  little  tales,  proving  al- 
ways, though,  how  she  had  been  a  friend  of  all  the 
finest  folks  in  town. 

Then  one  day  old  Deacon  Iron  Shirt  put  on  his 
spectacles,  the  ones  the  missionary  gave  him  years 
ago,  and  he  unwrapped  his  precious  leather  Book  of 
Heaven. 

"  Small  Ankles,"  he  said  slowly,  "  you  keep  such 
heap  fine  company  here  on  earth,  you  sure  be  one 
heap  unhappy  up  in  heaven  some  day,  just  stand 
around  outside  the  gates  forever  with  plenty  no  good 
Injuns." 

"Outside  the  gates?"  gasped  Small  Ankles, 
"  surely  I  need  never  stay  outside  of  heaven.  Why 
should  I?" 

"  You  may  be  heap  fine  squaw,  but  old  Iron  Shirt 
he  read  in  God's  Great  Book  of  Heaven  how  up 
there  you  earn  bad  company.     See  ?  " 

She  watched  him  peering  through  his  glasses, 
thumbing  over  the  dear  pages  which  he  knew  almost 
by  heart  until  in  Revelation,  the  twenty-second  chap- 


OUTSIDE  THE  GATES  117 

ter,  he  pointed  out  these  verses  which  she  read  with 
frightened  heart: 

"  Blessed  are  they  that  do  His  commandments, 
that  tliey  may  have  right  to  the  tree  of  Hfe  and  may 
enter  through  the  gates  into  the  City.  For  without 
are  dogs,  sorcerers,  and  whoremongers,  and  mur- 
derers, and  idolaters,  and  whosoever  loveth  and 
maketh  a  lie." 

"  O-o-oh !  "  gasped  Small  Ankles  in  a  small,  meek 
tone,  "  I  never  knew  I  was  that  kind  of  a  person. 
O-o-oh!" 

Old  Deacon  Iron  Shirt  spoke  kindly.  "  Heap 
hard  work  to  walk  upon  the  Jesus-Road  when  one 
little  squaw  she  pave  it  with  bad  boastings.  God's 
missionary-man,  he  live  in  that  same  town  with  you. 
Small  Ankles,  and  he  tell  old  Iron  Shirt  about  plenty 
things.  So  Iron  Shirt,  he  too  wise  to  be  fooled.  All 
day  he  sit  and  picture  how  one  small  wise  maiden 
she  could  lead  her  tribe  along  the  Jesus-Road,  so  he 
ask  God  to  show  him  a  sign-post  to  guide  Small  An- 
kles.    Look !  " 

And  Small  Ankles  read  in  the  book  of  Psalms  the 
motto  which  she  followed  all  the  rest  of  her  life  upon 
that  Indian  reservation: 

"  Let  the  words  of  my  mouth  and  the  meditations 
of  my  heart  be  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  O  Lord  my 
strength  and  my  redeemer." 


THE  ALASKANS 

XIX 
AN  ODOR  OF  A  SWEET   SMELL 

SNUGGLED  down  in  his  little  fur  suit,  all  that 
you  could  possibly  see  of  Muki  was  a  small 
red  nose  and  two  sleepy,  blinking  eyes — they 
blinked  because  the  snow  was  simply  dazzling,  and 
because  for  half  an  hour  he  had  been  staring  at  his 
father's  totem  pole,  that  "  wooden  family  tree  "  of 
theirs,  where  ravens,  bears,  and  eagles  were  grin- 
ning night  and  day,  to  show  the  world  which  animals 
were  his  parents'  totems — "  guardian  spirits,"  as  of 
course  you  know.  And  it  really  looked  as  if  Muki 
might  have  still  been  staring  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  Lady-in-the-Box,  who  instantly  began  altering 
everything  in  town  the  minute  the  sound  of  her 
voice  came  floating  out  over  the  frosty  air. 

Muki  rushed  to  the  spot  at  once,  and  with  his  own 
eyes  saw  what  a  very  small  box  it  was,  yet  such  a 
very  loud-voiced  lady  was  evidently  cooped  up  inside 
it !  She  was  a  most  obliging  creature,  for  whenever 
the  White  Man  fed  her  something  on  a  round  black 
plate  she  would  sing  and  sing  and  sing!  Muki 
promptly  decided  that  she  must  be  the  White  Man's 
wife,  and  he  fell  to  wondering  what  it  was  that  she 
ate  off  the  black  plate  which  made  her  desire  to  sing 

ii8 


AN  ODOE  OF  A  SWEET  SMELL        119 

— ^had  he  ever  known  another  woman  who  ate  then 
sang  so  piercingly?  No  doubt  there  might  even  be 
whole  tribes  of  these  "  boxed  wives "  down  south 
where  men  came  from ;  he  puzzled  his  Eskimo  brain 
to  find  out  how,  In  such  cramped  quarters,  these 
wives  prepared  the  fur  for  winter  suits,  or  scraped 
the  blubber  from  great  whales'  interiors,  or  even 
cooked  the  smallest  salmon  ...  a  hundred  cu- 
rious questions  hopped  around  beneath  his  furry 
hood  during  all  the  White  Man's  sermon. 

Then,  when  every  one  was  straggling  homeward, 
Muki  edged  up  to  the  stranger,  saying  shyly,  "Are 
you  going  to  let  your  wife  out  now,  perhaps?  " 

"  Let  who  out  ?  "  cried  the  White  Man,  much  be- 
wildered. "  I  have  no  wife,  dear  lad,  so  what  could 
I  let  her  out  of  ?  " 

"  Oh ! "  cried  the  upsidedown-est  boy  in  all  Alaska. 
"  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  your  wife  that  lived  inside  the 
box,  the  one  that  sings  so  loudly." 

You  never  saw  a  missionary  laugh  so  very  hard ! 
"  You  poor,  dear,  topsy-turvy  little  chap,  nobody 
lives  inside  my  box;  it's  something  called  a  phono- 
graph." And  he  explained  about  the  mechanism 
and  the  round  black  records  and  the  little  needle. 
Muki  listened  carefully,  then  fingered  the  great  red 
horn  which  looked  so  very  like  the  mouth  of  some 
giant  salmon,  "Is  this  her  ear?  Or  perhaps  her 
mouth  ?  "  he  inquired,  awestruck.  So  explanations 
had  to  be  made  all  over  again. 

Finally  Muki  sighed,  convinced.  "  Well,"  he 
sighed,  "  are  there  any  other  magic  things  as  strange 
as  this?" 


120  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

"  Indeed  there  are,"  the  missionary  said ;  "  here, 
Muki,  is  a  Bible,  the  most  wonderful  of  all;  for, 
would  you  believe  it?  This  is  the  God  of  Heaven's 
Toice  telling  you  in  your  own  tongue  exactly  how  He 
hopes  that  you  will  live." 

"  Make  Him  speak  to  me,"  said  Muki,  with  his 
eyes  like  saucers. 

"  My  boy,  to  hear  Him  speak  you  must  learn  to 
read,  which  means  coming  to  the  school  I  open  here 
to-morrow.     Will  you  come  ?  " 

Needless  to  say,  nothing  could  keep  Muki  away 
from  any  place  so  full  of  wonders.  And  in  the 
course  of  time  he  came  to  read  the  Eskimo  New 
Testament.  Oh,  I  wish  that  there  were  time  to  tell 
about  the  making  of  that  Bible  years  ago,  of  the  men 
who  tried  as  best  they  could  to  make  it  talk  directly 
to  the  hearts  of  ice-bound  frozen  people,  people  who 
had  never  seen  the  lilies  Jesus  mentioned,  who  knew 
nothing  about  sheep  or  shepherds : — for  instance, 
with  true  insight  they  decided  to  translate  the  phrase, 
"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  "  to  read  "  Behold  God's 
Little  Seal,"  for  those  tender,  soft-eyed  creatures  of 
the  North  were  as  well-beloved  by  every  Eskimo  as 
lambs  are  loved  by  you  and  me. 

Muki  loved  his  Bible  stories  dearly,  and  took  them 
so  very  much  to  heart  that  when  the  few  new  Chris- 
tians were  about  to  build  a  church  of  God  in  that 
small  seacoast  town,  Muki  felt  that  he,  too,  must 
contribute  something  very  precious  in  exchange  for 
his  new  happiness — did  not  the  Bible  plainly  state: 
"  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive  "  ? 

But  the  trouble  was  that  Muki  was  so  dreadfully 


AN  ODOR  OF  A  SWEET  SMELL         121 

poor.  There  was  nothing  he  could  give,  except,  of 
course,  the  old  fur  suit  which  he  must  wear  day  in 
and  day  out,  and  even  night-times,  too!  Naturally 
the  suit  could  not  be  parted  with.  So  as  the  Sunday 
for  the  great  church  offering  dawned,  Muki  rather 
frantically  decided  that  the  only  gift  he  had  to  give 
to  God  was — his  breakfast.  And  when  I  tell  you 
that  his  family  only  had  one  meal  a  day,  you  will  see 
how  very  much  in  earnest  he  was  to  be  willing  to 
deliberately  starve  in  order  to  help  build  God's  house. 

Indeed,  the  whole  collection  that  morning  was  a 
most  peculiar  one :  a  fur-clad  man  arose  and  said  he 
had  no  money,  but  would  gladly  give  twelve  days  to 
chopping  timber  for  God's  church.  Another  man 
said  he  would  spend  a  week  in  nailing  up  those  tim- 
bers. A  wrinkled  granny  gave  a  splendid  piece  of 
fur  which  she  herself  had  chewed,  Alaskan  fashion, 
until  the  pelt  was  soft  and  pliable.  A  mother  with  a 
baby  snuggled  in  the  hood  of  her  fur  suit,  gave  the 
teeth  of  several  walruses  her  husband  had  just 
landed.  And  as  they  made  their  offerings  the  mis- 
sionary said  a  Bible  verse  appropriate  to  each. 

So  in  the  course  of  time  Muki  also  walked  up 
front,  clutching  in  his  hand  his  breakfast  and  his 
dinner  and  his  supper — just  one  small  dried  piece  of 
fish  this  was,  which  seemed  to  the  missionary  to 
smell  unusually  strong  and  very  nauseating,  but  as 
Muki  laid  it  reverently  on  the  round  collection  plate 
the  missionary  understood  all  Muki's  great  unselfish- 
ness and  repeated  the  very  choicest  verse  of  all — 
"An  odor  of  a  sweet  smell,  a  sacrifice  acceptable, 
well-pleasing  unto  God." 


XX 

LITTLE    NORTHERN    LIGHTS,    OR    WHAT 
HAPPENED  TO  THE  CHRISTMAS  CANDLES 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  House  of  a 
Thousand  Christmas  Trees — imagine !  Yet 
alas,  alas,  not  one  tree  in  all  that  thousand 
had  ever  been  dressed  up  with  Christmas  candles  or 
had  had  a  single  Christmas  star  to  twinlde  at  its  top- 
most tip.  And  no  little  child  around  those  trees  had 
ever  had  a  single  Christmas  gift  or  heard  a  single 
Christmas  carol.  For  what  are  a  thousand  Christ- 
mas trees  in  places  where  the  story  of  the  Babe  of 
Bethlehem  has  not  been  told?  No  wonder  that  De- 
cember twenty-fifth  was  exactly  like  the  twenty- 
fourth  or  twenty-sixth,  or  that  Christmas  trees  grew 
up  undecorated. 

But  once  upon  that  very  same  time  when  there  was 
the  House  of  a  Thousand  Christmas  Trees,  there 
was  also  a  missionary  sent  into  that  village  of  Alaska, 
and  no  sooner  had  she  moved  into  that  house  and 
seen  her  thousand  pine  trees  than  she  dreamed  a  cer- 
tain dream.  A  dream  so  very  urgent  that  she  wrote 
home  to  her  parents  in  the  United  States  as  follows : 

"  Beloved  and  Far-away  Family  : 

"  Like  nice  old  Caesar,  I  have  at  last  *  veni, 
vidi,  vici,'  by  which  I  mean — I  came,  I  saw,  I  con- 

122 


LITTLE  NOETHEEN  LIGHTS  123 

quered  (not  the  neighbors  yet,  oh  no,  but  my  own 
great  loneUness!).  For  my  little  new  log  cabin  was 
plain  as  a  pipe-stem  until  I  trimmed  it  up  with  those 
yards  of  jolly  cretonnes  you  insisted  on  my  putting 
in  my  trunk.  So  I  look  like  never-ending  summer- 
time indoors;  while  outside  I  am  surrounded  by  a 
thousand  empty  Christmas  trees  that  have  not  yet 
been  taught  their  job  in  life,  namely,  to  help  me  tell 
these  heathen  Eskimos  the  love  of  Jesus  Christ. 
So  I  have  already  selected  one  little  love  of  a  tree — 
just  four  feet  high  it  stands,  every  needle  shined  and 
perky  for  December  twenty-fifth,  waiting  for  some 
tinsel  and  some  candles  and  some  stars.  So  please 
trot  right  down-town,  Beloved  Dears,  and  rummage 
in  the  Five-and-Ten-Cent-Store,then  send  me  dozens 
of  the  things  I  ought  to  have. 

"  My  heathen  neighbors  are  the  dearest  most 
afraid  persons  you  can  imagine.  Their  fear  of  evil 
spirits  in  the  air  and  snow  and  forests  is  the  greatest 
pity;  everywhere  I  go  I  see  quaint  offerings  hanging 
here  and  there  to  please  these  naughty  demons.  But 
yesterday  I  had  an  even  greater  shock,  for  little  Miss 
Sea  Gull  came  to  call  on  me  and  I  asked  her  to  stay 
to  dinner.  One  of  my  Eskimo  helpers  had  just 
brought  me  a  bear  steak,  so  I  cooked  it  to  share  with 
my  small  visitor.  But  alas,  after  we  had  eaten  it,  I 
mentioned  what  it  was,  and  the  poor  child  nearly 
wept  her  head  off.  '/  have  eaten  a  friend!  I  have 
eaten  a  friend!'  she  wailed.  'Whatever  do  you 
mean  ? '  I  asked,  whereupon  she  explained  that  bears 
were  her  family's  totem — had  I  never  noticed  a  bear 
carved  on  top  of  her  father's  totem  pole?    Well? 


124  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

Then  wasn't  it  sheer  wickedness  to  go  eating  bear 
meat  when  the  friendly  spirits  of  the  bear  watch  out 
for  us,  the  only  helpful  spirits  her  poor  family  had  ? 
etc.,  etc. 

"  I  lost  no  time  in  telling  of  the  Friend  of  Little 
Children,  and  I  hope  the  Lord  Jesus  may  soon  be- 
come more  real  to  her  than  wooden  totems  on  a  pole. 
Meanwhile  I  have  no  doubt  she  was  severely  pun- 
ished by  her  parents  for  eating  a  '  near-relative-of- 
theirs.'  Oh,  you  dear,  fearless  Christians-back- 
home,  do  send  me  my  box  of  Christmas  trimmings 
soon.    Good-bye." 

You  may  be  sure  the  next  boat  sailing  to  Alaska 
bore  a  box  full  to  the  brim  of  everything  desirable, 
so  that  when  December  twenty-fourth  came  round 
only  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  those  one  thou- 
sand pine  trees  stood  outside  a  small  log  cabin,  for 
the  thousandth  tree  was  indoors — all  shimmering 
with  silver  tinsel  and  gay  with  sixty  little  colored 
candles. 

There  are  no  locks  on  the  doors  of  small  log  cabins 
in  Alaska,  so  early  Christmas  morning  when  our  mis- 
sionary was  hurrying  round  the  village  to  remind  the 
people  of  her  Christmas  celebration  in  the  evening, 
five  little  girls  could  easily  walk  right  indoors  and 
stand  admiring  all  the  wonders  of  that  secret  tree. 
"Ah  !  "  they  cried,  and  "  Oh  !  "  and  "  Um-m-m !  "  as 
well  as  other  tokens  of  delight.  Then  one  of  them 
tiptoed  nearer  and  touched  a  Christmas  candle,  a 
pale  pink  Christmas  candle  which  looked  far  too  in- 
viting, as  if — yes,  as  if  it  really  might  he  very  good 


LITTLE  NORTHEEN  LIGHTS  125 

to  eat!  Greatly  daring,  she  nibbled  daintily.  "Um- 
m-ra  !  "  she  cried,  "  good  tallow!  " 

"  Oh ! "  sighed  the  other  four  girls  wistfully, 
watching  her  eat  that  one  pink  candle  as  you  and  I 
eat  sticks  of  colored  candy.  And  then — how  shall  I 
tell  it  ? — but  those  other  envious  little  maidens  simply 
had  to  have  a  candle,  too !  "  Um-m-m !  "  they  mur- 
mured blissfully,  and  swallowed  one  apiece.  But 
what  is  one  small  candle?  So  greedily  they  chewed 
up  two  apiece — then  four — then  six — and  half  an 
hour  later  when  the  missionary  walked  into  her  par- 
lor her  little  tree  was  empty  of  its  candles  .  .  . 
just  the  silver  tinsel  gleamed  and  glistened  at  her. 

"  Where,  oh,  where  have  my  candles  gone  ?  "  she 
wondered  anxiously.  But  although  she  hunted  high 
and  hunted  low  not  a  candle  could  be  found.  Then 
suddenly  the  real  truth  dawned  on  her — her  Eski- 
mos loved  tallow,  which  was  almost  meat  and  drink 
to  them,  so  the  dainty  bits  of  colored  tallow  had  no 
doubt  proved  a  great  temptation  to  some  little  un- 
known guests  who  entered  in  her  absence.  She 
laughed,  then  cried  a  little,  too.  "  I  have  so  much 
to  learn,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 

That  evening,  when  the  neighbors  crowded  her  log 
cabin  to  the  very  doors,  she  ended  the  little  enter- 
tainment by  telling  of  mankind's  First  Christmas 
Candle — that  Babe  of  Bethlehem  who  in  later  years 
said  of  Himself :  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world,"  add- 
ing also :  "Ye  are  the  light  of  the  world." 

So  in  her  careful  loving  way  she  explained  that 
the  spirit  of  each  person  is  the  candle  of  the  Lord, 
and  He  expects  us  each  to  shine.    "And  this  new 


126  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

shining,"  she  added,  "  will  be  our  Christmas  gift  to 
Him  who  sent  the  light  to  all  who  walk  in  darkness." 

4:  3|:  *  3tc  ♦  *  4: 

Five  little  fur-clad  Eskimos  came  hand  in  hand 
to  see  her  the  next  morning.  "  We  ate  Gk)d's  Christ- 
mas candles,"  they  confessed,  their  heads  hung  down 
in  shame. 

"  Eating  is  my  greatest  sin,  dear  Teacher,"  sighed 
Sea  Gull,  tearfully,  "  for  did  I  not  eat  up  my  friend 
the  bear  ? — and  now,  oh  me !  oh  my !  I  even  ate — the 
light  of  the  world!  Oh,  Teacher,  is  there  nothing 
left  to  make  a  Christian  shining?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  that  missionary  answered  softly,  "  I 
know  that  God  has  surely  chosen  you  to  be  His  spe- 
cial little  Northern  Light  to  shine  in  this  dark  mid- 
night village." 

"  Can't  we  shine,  too?  "  the  others  whispered  bash- 
fully, and  I'm  wondering — could  anything  wiser 
have  happened  to  those  Christmas  candles  ? 


THE  LATIN-AMERICANS 

XXI 
MINUS  ONE! 

IF  ever  a  little  girl  wanted  to  do  something,  that 
little  girl  was  Catarina;  and  since  she  only- 
wanted  to  go  to  Sunday-school,  you  may  be 
surprised  that  she  was  not  allowed  to  go,  especially 
as  she  was  perfectly  well,  the  weather  was  clear  and 
sunshiny,  and  the  Sunday-school  was  being  held  only 
a  very  little  distance  away.  Right  out  under  the 
shadow  of  a  great  palm  tree.  Catarina  could  see  the 
boys  and  girls  gathering,  she  could  see  the  teacher 
hanging  the  picture  scroll  against  the  tree  trunk. 

"  Oh,  madremia,"  she  begged,  "  I  pray  thee  let  me 
go  just  for  a  little  while.  See,  I  have  been  twice  al- 
ready and  it  has  never  hurt  me ;  let  me  go  to-day !  " 

But  the  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Catarina's 
mother  hated  Sunday-schools.  "  No,  no,  Catarina, 
it  is  not  safe  to  go.  Something  In  my  bones  tells  me 
those  stories  will  upset  our  family.  So  run  away, 
child,  thou  art  in  the  way  when  there  is  cooking." 

So  two  big  tears  dripped  sadly  from  Catarina's 
eyes  as  she  went  out  into  the  sunshine,  where  her 
father  was  sitting,  lazily  sunning  his  toes,  and  blink- 
ing his  eyes  open  and  shut,  open  and  shut.     And  the 

127 


128  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

first  thing  she  knew  Catarina  was  telling  him  how 
heart-broken  she  was  and  he  was  saying:  "Come 
now,  am  I  not  thy  father?  Then  run  along  and  lis- 
ten to  the  stories,  little  one.  Yes,  go  ten  times,  until 
thou  hast  a  new  story  for  every  one  of  thy  ten 
fingers." 

So  Catarina  lost  not  a  moment  in  skipping  over  to 
the  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  under  the  palm  tree, 
where  she  listened  with  all  her  ears.  Catarina's 
mother  did  not  like  it,  but  her  father  said  cheer- 
fully :  "  Oh,  well,  she  wants  to,  so  let  her  go !  " 

So  Sunday  after  Sunday  Catarina  went,  until  she 
had  been  nine  times.  It  was  exactly  as  if  she  had  a 
Bible  right  at  the  tips  of  her  nine  fingers,  for  she 
named  a  new  finger  every  Sunday,  and  now  only  the 
tenth  finger  was  empty,  waiting — waiting  for  the 
next  new  story.  But,  oh  dear  me,  there  came  a  sad 
Thursday  when  her  family  moved  to  a  distant  vil- 
lage, which  looked  exactly  like  the  old  one,  only — 
can  you  guess?     There  was  no  Sunday-school. 

Catarina  asked  all  her  little  new  neighbors,  but  not 
a  single  child  in  all  that  town  had  ever  heard  of  such 
a  thing.  So  Catarina  told  them  what  it  was:  how 
there  had  to  be  a  teacher,  and  this  teacher  would 
hang  a  picture  against  a  tree  trunk,  and  tell  stories 
about  the  pictures.  "  I  that  speak  unto  you  know 
nine  of  those  stories,  myself!"  Catarina  said  proudly, 
"  see — nine !  "  And  she  held  up  her  two  hands  and 
wiggled  every  one  of  her  fingers  except  the  tenth. 

"  Then  tell  us  the  stories,"  begged  the  little  new 
neighbors,  "  oh,  do  tell  us !  Let's  have  this  thing 
called  a  Sunday-school — right  away,  let's  begin." 


MINUS  ONE !  129 

So  they  sat  down  under  a  palm  tree  and  Catarina 
hung  a  piece  of  paper  on  the  tree.  "  This  is  the 
Sunday-school  picture,"  she  said;  "we'll  just  have 
to  pretend,  of  course."  Indeed,  it  took  quite  a  little 
pretending  when  there  wasn't  a  single  drawing  on 
that  entire  piece  of  paper.  But  Catarina  laid  her 
finger  on  a  certain  spot  and  said :  "  Now,  here's 
where  the  hillside  ought  to  be.  And  all  over  the  hill- 
side you  must  make  believe  that  there  are  sheep, 
huddled  together,  sound  asleep.  Shepherds  are  sit- 
ting here,  and  it's  night.  It's  ever  and  ever  so  dark, 
until  suddenly  up  in  this  corner  of  the  picture  there 
is  a  big  light,  right  here  in  the  sky,  and  now  what  do 
you  suppose  made  that  light  ?  " 

Not  a  single  little  Porto  Rican  knew,  so  Catarina 
whispered :  "  Why,  it  was  angels,  oh,  a  whole  lot  of 
angels,  and  they  came  down  to  tell  the  shepherds 
that  the  Lord  Jesus  was  born." 

"  Who  is  this  Lord  Jesus  ?  "  a  little  girl  asked,  so 
Catarina  explained.     And  that  was  her  first  story ! 

"  We  like  finger  stories,"  the  children  cried. 
"  Tell  us  another." 

So  Catarina  told  story  after  story — the  very  ones 
you  like  best  yourself — about  Three  Wise  Men  who 
came  over  the  desert  on  camels  with  presents  for  the 
little  Lord  Jesus ;  about  how  the  Lord  Jesus  fed  five 
thousand  people  from  what  was  in  the  lunch-basket 
of  one  surprised  little  boy ;  about  how  the  Lord  Jesus 
healed  the  sick  at  sunset  time — and  so  through  all 
her  nine  fingers,  a  story  for  each.  There  came  a  time 
when  she  had  told  them  so  often  that  almost  any  lit- 
tle Pllipino  child  could  tell  which  story  belonged  on 


130  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

which  finger!  The  first  they  called  her  Angel  Fin- 
ger, the  next  her  Wise  Men  Finger,  tlie  next  her 
Lunch-Basket  Finger,  the  next  her  Sick  Finger,  etc., 
nine  of  them.  But  always  there  was  Catarina's 
empty  little  tenth  finger  that  had  no  story  at  all ! 

Then  one  day  our  missionaries  came  to  that  town, 
and  no  sooner  had  Mrs.  Missionary  started  telling 
the  Bible  stories  to  the  women  and  children  tlian  a 
certain  small  boy  named  Alfonso  cried :  "  Oh,  that's 
Catarina's  sixth  finger,  Senora ! "  Of  course  Mrs. 
Missionary  could  not  imagine  what  he  was  talking 
about,  so  she  started  to  tell  another  stoiy,  when  a 
small,  excited  girl  called  out :  "  Senora,  Senora,  we 
know  how  it  ends,  for  it's  Catarina's  fourth  finger." 

So  then  Mrs.  Missionary  stopped  and  asked: 
"  Who  is  Catarina  ?    And  what  about  her  fingers  ?  " 

Whereupon  Catarina  came  shyly  forward  and, 
holding  up  her  hands,  said :  "  I  have  nine  Bible  fin- 
gers, Senora,  but  alas,  my  tenth  finger  is  empty." 

Yet  when  Mrs.  Missionary  heard  all  that  Catarina 
had  done  in  that  town  she  saw  that  Catarina's  tenth 
finger  had  been  a  Bible  story  all  by  itself,  for  perhaps 
you  will  remember  that  just  before  the  Lord  Jesus 
went  back  to  Heaven  He  said  to  His  friends :  "  Go 
ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every 
creature."  And  Mrs.  Missionary  thought  that  Cata- 
rina had  obeyed  this  command  about  as  well  as  any 
little  girl  could  do,  for  the  moment  she  moved  into 
the  new  village  hadn't  she  begun  spreading  the  story 
of  Jesus  ?  Indeed,  it  makes  me  wonder  whether  you 
and  I  are  remembering  to  use  our  fingers  for  the 
Lord  Jesus,  too ! 


'XXII 
STRAIGHT  FROM  HEAVEN  TO  TEOFILO 

DANNY'S  mother  stood  in  the  doorway,  si- 
lently watching  him.  Finally  she  said: 
"  Danny,  what  are  you  doing?  " 

"  Now,  Mumsy,"  begged  Danny  with  his  politest 
do-please-let-me-alone  manner,  "it's  just  because  I'm 
brimful  of  a  brand-new  secret, — ^honest  Injun,  I 
can't  tell  what  it  is  yet !  Only  from  now  on  you  and 
Dad  aren't  the  only  missionaries  in  Cuba — there's 
me,  too ! " 

"  You're  no  sort  of  a  missionary  to  use  grammar 
like  that,"  she  laughed.  Then  more  seriously:  "Are 
you  writing  letters  home  to  America,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mumsy ! "  he  pleaded,  "  I  do  so  awfully 
want  not  to  tell.  Yet  when  you  look  at  me  with  that 
twinkle  I'm  sure  to  let  it  pop  out.  I'll  just  say  this — 
it's  a  '  safe  and  sane  *  secret !  " 

"  All  right,"  she  laughed,  leaving  the  room,  "  I'll 
not  worm  it  out  of  you,  dear.  Only  mind  you  don't 
get  into  trouble." 

Danny  sighed.  That's  all  she  thought  about,  poor 
dear:  keeping  people  out  of  trouble.  Didn't  every 
one  in  town  keep  coming  to  their  house  in  order 
that  Mumsy  could  get  them  nicely  smoothed  out 

131 


132  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBORS 

again?  Well,  he  wouldn't  add  himself  to  the  num- 
ber, for  being  an  angel  couldn't  prove  very  danger- 
ous business,  surely ! 

Probably  you  are  wondering  whatever  started 
Danny  in  the  angel  service  since  he  had  seen  Teofilo 
turn  the  leaves ! 

It  began  that  morning  when  Danny  was  playing 
bear  all  by  himself  behind  the  sitting-room  sofa, 
which  made  a  marvellous  den.  Some  one  had  come 
softly  shuffling  into  the  room,  so  Danny  stood  up  on 
his  hind  legs,  as  any  trained  bear  would  do,  and  was 
about  to  give  a  gruff,  surly  growl  to  frighten  his 
mother,  when,  behold,  it  was  not  his  mother  at  all, 
but  Teofilo.  And  Danny  knew  that  Teofilo  was  not 
supposed  to  come  into  the  house  at  all ;  his  job  was  in 
the  garden,  planting  and  raking  and  weeding. 

Yet  here  was  Teofilo  shuffling  slyly  across  the 
room,  where  he  picked  up  a  book,  slipped  it  under 
his  belt,  and  hurriedly  shuffled  away. 

"  Dear  me !  "  groaned  Danny,  "  he's  a  thief !  I'd 
better  play  detective  on  him  right  away,  for  Mumsy 
won't  like  Teofilo's  stealing  things,  when  she's  trying 
so  hard  to  reform  him." 

So,  like  any  model  detective,  Danny  followed  his 
thief  on  tiptoe  out  into  the  garden,  and  skulked  be- 
hind a  clump  of  bushes,  watching  Teofilo  turn  the 
leaves  of  the  book  he  had  stolen.  Danny  had  never 
seen  any  one  turn  pages  quite  so  fast.  "  Whatever 
makes  him  turn  all  the  time,  why  doesn't  he  read  it  ?  " 

Then,  for  a  thief,  Teofilo  did  an  astonishing  thing. 
He  fell  on  his  knees,  closed  his  eyes,  and  prayed: 
"  Oh,  God,  you  saw  me  steal  this  Bible.    You  know 


STEAIGHT  FROM  HEAVEN  TO  TEOFILO  133 

I  didn't  have  any  money  to  buy  one ;  but,  oh,  Lord, 
the  print  is  too  small  for  me  to  read ;  you  know  what 
dim  old  eyes  I  have.  I've  turned  every  page,  but  I 
can't  find  any  letters  big  enough  for  a  stupid  old 
peasant  man  who  has  only  just  learned  his  A  B  C's. 
Oh,  Lord,  couldn't  you  get  one  of  your  angels  to 
drop  me  down  a  Bible  in  print  as  big  as  you  have  it ; 
just  a  page  at  a  time  would  do.  Lord,  if  you're  busy 
now.     I'm  here  in  the  missionary's  garden.     Amen." 

Danny  walked  slowly  into  the  house,  thinking  it 
over.  What,  oh  what,  did  God  do  with  peculiar 
prayers  like  this?  Did  He  really  have  some  special 
angel  all  ready  to  drop  a  nice  big  primer  Bible  into 
their  garden  for  Teofilo?  Danny  couldn't  help  but 
worry  about  it — for  instance,  would  that  angel  surely 
remember  to  send  a  Spanish  Bible?  Somehow  he 
always  thought  of  God  and  the  angels  as  talking 
English ;  but,  of  course,  that  was  not  true.  Natu- 
rally, God  knew  every  single  language  that  there  was 
in  the  world.  But  were  the  angels  as  wise?  Sup- 
posing this  particular  angel  carelessly  dropped  an 
English  Bible — oh,  poor,  poor  Teofilo ! 

Danny  walked  out  to  meet  his  father. 

"  Listen,  Dad,"  he  began,  "  if  anybody  I  know 
prays  a  prayer  and  wants  an  angel  to  do  something 
very,  very  unusual  for  angels  to  do,  do  you  think  I 
ought  to  wait  and  see  whether  the  angel  makes  good, 
or  should  I  answer  the  prayer  myself?  " 

Danny's  missionary  father  looked  into  Danny's 
sober  face.  "If  it's  something  you  can  do,  probably 
you're  to  be  the  angel  yourself,  Danny.  Of  course, 
I  don't  know  what  you  really  mean." 


134  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

"  No,"  said  Danny  quietly,  "  I've  got  to  keep  it  a 
secret."  So  after  luncheon  he  went  up  to  his  room 
and  began  copying  a  Spanish  Gospel  of  Mark  in 
great,  square,  black  letters,  printed  side  by  side  ex- 
actly as  children's  primers  ought  to  look.  Perhaps 
you  do  not  realize  that  of  all  the  four  gospels  Mark 
is  by  far  the  shortest,  and  as  Danny  said  to  himself: 
"  I  may  be  an  old,  old  man  before  I  get  the  whole 
Bible  copied,  so  I'd  better  begin  with  the  littlest 
book ;  Matthew  and  Luke  tell  almost  the  same  stories, 
only  they  aren't  nearly  as  brisk  about  it.  Mark  hur- 
ries along  and  says  *  straightway '  and  *  immediately  * 
about  everything  that  Jesus  does." 

After  several  pages  were  done,  Danny  crept  from 
the  house  and  went  cautiously  into  the  garden,  Teo- 
filo  was  way  off  in  the  vegetable  patch,  so  Danny  hid 
the  carefully-copied  pages  under  Teofilo's  old  straw 
hat.  Never  before  had  his  heart  pitty-patted  quite 
so  fast,  and  he  was  disappointed  that  supper  came 
before  he  could  watch  Teofilo  find  the  surprise. 

After  that  Danny  printed  a  few  pages  of  Mark's 
Gospel  every  day,  secretly  hiding  them  in  the  garden 
when  Teofilo  was  out  of  sight.  And  this  kept  up  for 
several  days,  until  one  evening,  when  his  mother  said : 

"  Henry,  I  wonder  if  there  was  ever  a  town  as  su- 
perstitious as  this  one?  Imagine  the  utterly  absurd 
news  I  heard  to-day;  positively  everybody  in  town 
believes  it,  too — that  an  angel  actually  comes  down 
from  heaven  every  single  day  to  visit  our  garden  and 
leave  part  of  the  Bible  in  great  big  letters,  large 
enough  for  Teofilo  to  read.  Of  all  superstitious 
stories!    I  was  so  upset  that  I  came  straight  home 


STEAIGHT  FEOM  HEAVEN  TO  TEOFILO  135 

and  gave  Teofilo  a  good  scolding  for  spreading  such 
perfect  nonsense  among  the  peasants,  and  would  you 
believe  it,  but  the  poor  old  fellow  insists  that  it  is 
true !  He  says  he  prayed  for  a  Bible  like  that,  and 
that  the  good  God  answered  his  prayer.  Henry, 
dear,  his  eyes  simply  shine,  he  is  so  convinced  about 
it,  and  he  loves  the  Bible  so  much  that  after  all  these 
years  of  unwillingness  he  wants  to  join  the  church 
at  once.  And  his  uncle.  Padre  Augustino,  the  Catho- 
lic priest,  who  has  always  been  so  bitter  against 
Protestants,  is  so  stunned  by  this  angel  visitation  that 
he  has  become  curious  enough  to  read  the  Bible 
through — not  Teofilo's  daily  installments,  but  a  real 
Bible,  and  his  heart  is  all  awakened.  Indeed, 
every  one  in  the  village  is  so  interested  in  his  attitude 
that  they  want  Bibles.  It's  rather  wonderful  in  one 
way,  you  see,  all  but  that  angel  superstition.  What 
zvill  you  do  about  it  ?  " 

Danny's  father  looked  at  Danny,  and  Danny 
looked  at  his  father. 

"I  think,"  said  Danny's  father  slowly,  "that 
Danny  may  have  to  make  a  little  speech  in  meeting 
next  Sunday  morning.     How  about  it,  Danny  ?  " 

Danny  sighed.  "  I  just  knew  I  wasn't  cut  out  to 
be  an  angel  for  long.  It's  dangerous  business,  after 
all,  isn't  it?" 

Danny's  mother  looked  at  him  in  utter  surprise. 
"  Why,  Danny  dear,"  she  cried,  "  were  you  the  an- 
gel ?  Oh,  then,  I'm  sure  everything  will  turn  out  all 
right ;  don't  you  think  so,  Henry  ?  " 

And  Danny's  father  nodded  his  head  proudly. 


THE  WESTERNERS 

XXIII 

THE   FAIRY   WITH  WHISKERS 

IT  was  the  ugliest  little  town  in  the  whole  United 
States;  indeed  it  was!  With  the  muddiest  of 
unpaved  Main  Streets,  lined  by  small,  unpainted 
stores  and  a  straggling  row  of  uninviting  houses.  All 
around  that  town  were  oil  wells — places  where  men 
are  toiling  day  and  night  to  get  us  gasoline  to  run 
our  motor-trucks  and  autos,  kerosene  to  light  our 
lamps,  naphtha  and  benzine  to  clean  our  clothes, 
vaseline  to  heal  our  sores,  not  to  mention  half  a 
dozen  other  things  which  crude  oil  gives  us. 

Just  a  short  step  out  from  town  the  road  began  to 
climb  a  hill,  the  hill  began  to  show  some  trees,  the 
trees  began  to  veil  a  lane,  the  lane  began  to  near  the 
house,  and — like  the  old  woman's  pig — you  are  now 
over  the  stile  and  indoors,  where  Thelma  Thor,  a 
small  Norwegian  maiden,  is  suffering  with  a  cold  in 
her  head,  the  perfectly  horrid  sniffy  kind  with  a 
cough  attached  that  made  the  doctor  say,  "  Now,  my 
dear,  you'll  be  all  right  if  you'll  stay  quietly  in  the 
house  a  few  days."  So  Miss  Shut-in  did  as  he  asked, 
but  she  sighed  and  she  groaned  about  it,  for  it  was 
quite  the  most  inconvenient  time  of  the  year  to  be 
shut  in,  since  Easter  was  day  after  to-morrow,  and 

136 


THE  FAIRY  WITH  WHISKEES         137 

oh  dear !  oh  dear !  she  did  so  want  to  have  the  beauti- 
fulest  new  Easter  bonnet. 

She  got  out  both  of  last  year's  straw  hats,  but  they 
looked  too  old-fashioned  for  words.  The  truth  of 
the  matter  is  that  they  had  also  been  her  hats  the 
year  before  that  too.  Hats  just  can't  go  on  being 
stylish  forever. 

"  Oh,  for  a  fairy  godmother,"  sobbed  Miss  Shut-in, 
weeping  over  the  ugliness  of  them.  "  I  bane  want- 
ing to  1-look  p-pretty."  She  hid  her  head  on  the 
table.    And  her  cold  was  worse  than  ever. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Now 
who  could  it  possibly  be  at  this  late  hour  in  the  after- 
noon? Grocer?  postman?  or — oh,  amusing  thought, 
the  fairy  she  had  just  wished  for?  But  no,  she 
opened  the  door,  and  it  wasn't  a  fairy,  for  who  ever 
heard  of  a  fairy  with  whiskers  ?  Still  she  had  to  ad- 
mit his  visit  both  began  and  ended  differently  from 
any  other  visit  —  perhaps  there  were  gentlemen 
fairies,  after  all ! 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  this  Almost-a-Fairy  per- 
son. "  You  don't  look  at  all  as  if  you  were  the  lady 
of  the  house.     Are  you  ?  " 

"  But  I  bane,"  said  Thelma  Thor  solemnly.  "  I 
bane  twelve,  and  there's  no  other  lady  in  this  house 
but  me,  since  mother  died.  And  that  was  years 
ago. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Almost-a-Fairy  gently.  "And 
you've  been  crying  about  something,  haven't  you? 
I  wonder  if  I  could  help  you.  That's  my  business, 
helping." 

Miss  Shut-in  smiled  an  April  smile  through  her 


138  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

tears.  **  I  bane  afraid  you  couldn't  do  much  unless 
you  bane  a  fairy;  for  it  bane  a  hat,  sir — an  Easter 
hat." 

"  Really  ?  "  laughed  the  Almost- a- Fairy ;  "  and 
what  may  you  be  crying  over  an  Easter  hat  for  ?  " 

Miss  Shut-in  sniffed.  "  Oh,  I  wanted  to  look 
p-pretty,  Easter." 

"  Fine !  fine !  "  said  the  Almost-a-Fairy.  "  It's  a 
good  sign  to  find  any  one  so  young  planning  to  adorn 
the  church  and  make  Christianity  attractive." 

Thelma  simply  stared. 

"  Oh,  but  I  bane  going  to  do  it  to  adorn  myself, 
for  I  never  go  to  church  no  more,  not  since  mother 
died." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  A.  A.  F.  Then  he  picked  up  the 
two  hats  and  twirled  them  around  on  his  fingers. 
"  This  is  the  better  hat,  of  course ;  but  there's  one 
nice  rose  on  this  other  hat.  Now  let  me  rip  this  off 
and  hold  it  over  this  worn  place.  Look!  isn't  that 
fetching?  It's  no  trick  at  all.  Milliners  just  twirl 
hats  around; — zip!  then  on  goes  a  flower  and  up 
goes  the  price." 

Miss  Shut-in  stared  at  her  hat  in  a  fascinated  way. 
**  It  bane  lovely,"  she  admitted.  "  You  bane  some 
fairy — altogether  one — not  the  almost  kind.  I  guess 
millinery  bane  your  business,  yes  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "Adorning  is  my  business;  helping 
people  to  adorn  the  gospel.  I  hoped  you  were  plan- 
ning to  do  that  with  this  hat,  perhaps." 

Thelma  squirmed  uncomfortably.  "  I  ban't  aim- 
ing to  adorn  anything  but  myself.  I  bane  going  to 
walk  up  and  down  Main  Street  and  have  people  ad- 


THE  FAIEY  WITH  WHISKEES         139 

mire  my  hat.  I  really  wouldn't  know  how  to  adorn 
thj  g-gospel  with  flowers  and  garlands.  Oh,  you  got 
a  book  of  directions  ?  " 

For  even  as  the  Altogether-a- Fairy  was  looping  a 
bit  of  ribbon  around  the  crown,  he  whisked  a  book 
out  of  his  pocket  and  opened  it.  "  Yes,  here  are  all 
the  rules,"  he  said,  and  Thelnia  was  amazed  to  see  a 
Bible. 

"  Of  all  things !  "  she  cried. 

"  In  all  things,"  he  corrected  her,  and  opened  his 
Bible  to  the  book  of  Titus,  "Adorn  the  gospel  of 
Christ  our  Saviour  in  all  things." 

"And  how  bane  one  little  girl  go  to  work  to  adorn 
the  gospel  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  turned  the  pages  until  he  found  the  Book  of 
Timothy,  then  he  read: 

" '  In  like  manner  also,  that  women  adorn  them- 
selves in  modest  apparel  .  .  .  not  with  braided 
hair,  or  gold,  or  pearls,  or  costly  array,  but  with  good 
works.'    You  see? " 

Miss  Shut-in  smiled.  "  That  bane  one  cheap,  easy 
way  to  adorn  anything,  for  good  works  ban't  nearly 
so  expensive  as  those  just  grand  hats  they  got  down- 
town in  stores." 

"Maybe  not,"  the  Fairy-with- Whiskers  said;  "and 
then  again  maybe  it  would  be  even  more  expensive. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  Bible  tells  me  that  the  ornament 
of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit  is  of  great  price  in  the 
sight  of  the  Lord.  I'm  wondering  if  you  wouldn't 
like  to  buy  a  Bible  now,  and  read  this  for  yourself." 

Miss  Shut-in  dimpled.  "  Now  I  know  you  bane  a 
fairy  what  sells  Bibles,  ban't  you,   so  people  will 


140  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

adorn  their  hearts  ?  Well,  I  love  to  buy  one,  sir,  for 
our  only  Bible  bane  so  big  and  heavy,  and  the  print 
so  fine,  that  all  we  ever  do  bane  dust  the  outside  of  it 
once  a  year  up  on  the  top  shelf  in  the  bookcase." 

"  Dear  me ! "  sighed  the  Fairy  and  pulled  his 
whiskers  sadly.  "  Yet  there  are  six  million  people 
in  America  who  haven't  a  Bible  even  on  their  top 
shelves.     Won't  you  buy  one,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to,  but  I  got  so  little  money,  and  I  need 
new  Easter  shoes  dreadfully." 

"  More  adornment,"  he  laughed.  "  Didn't  you 
know  that  the  Bible  says,  *  How  beautiful  are  the 
feet  of  them  that  bring  glad  tidings  of  good  things '  ? 
You  can  easily  start  adorning  your  feet  that  way. 
In  fact,  this  all  makes  me  think  of  one  of  my  favor- 
ite poems — listen: 

"  Some  folks  in  looks  take  so  much  pride 
They  don't  think  much  on  what's  inside. 
Well,  as  for  me,  I  know  my  face 
Can  ne'er  be  made  a  thing  of  grace. 
And  so  I  rather  think  I'll  see 
How  I  can  fix  th*  inside  of  me. 
So  folks'll  say,  '  He  looks  like  sin. 
But  ain't  he  beautiful  zvithin?'" 

Thelma  Thor  grinned  widely :  "  I  bane  going  to 
buy  me  the  littlest  Bible  you  got ;  comes  the  day  when 
I  bane  alone  so  I  can  read.  You  mark  me  all  those 
beauty  places, — yes  ?  " 

Of  course  he  did:  i  Samuel  16:7;  Titus  2:10; 
I  Peter  3:3,  4 ;  Proverbs  31 :  30  and  a  score  of  other 
verses  showing  her  how  she  could  "  adorn  the 
gospel  in  all  things."     And  Thelma  read  that  Bible 


THE  FAIEY  WITH  WHISKERS  141 

with  the  greatest  curiosity.  But  best  of  all  was 
Sigmund  Thor,  her  father,  a  truck  farmer  who  sup- 
plied that  ugly  oil  town  with  fresh  vegetables.  He 
took  the  Bible  just  as  curiously  as  Thelma,  and  one 
night  he  said :  "  Why  for  bane  you  stay  home  from 
church,  eh  ?  Why  for  you  not  say  prayers  out  loud 
at  night,  eh?  Why  for  you  not  give  your  penny  to 
the  Lord  come  Sundays,  like  you  used  to  do?  You 
bane  a  bad  girl,  Thelma,  joost  like  I  bane  a  bad  man. 
It  bane  one  good  buy — this  Book." 

So  it  seems  to  me  that  if  the  Fairy-with- Whiskers 
can  do  that  much  good  in  selling  one  Bible,  then  it's 
a  fine  thing  to  be  a  colporter.  Don't  you  agree? 
Especially  with  six  million  Americans  without  Bibles 
yet. 


XXIV 
JUST  MITHER 

LONG  years  ago  Mither  came  to  town, — 
Mither  MacCarthy,  as  I'm  sure  you've 
guessed.  And  not  one  of  all  the  nice  ladies 
in  town  was  aware  that  there  was  a  new  neighbor — 
not  one! 

So  Mither  had  it  all  to  do  alone.  And  there  was 
a  lot  to  do,  for  the  corners  were  so  full  of  cobwebs, 
the  floors  so  gritty  and  the  window-panes  so  smutty 
that  not  a  place  in  all  that  house  was  fit  for  even 
Mither's  cat  to  look  at.  Ah  me,  what  scrubbings 
went  on — what  scourings — what  polishings — before 
ever  that  little  house,  which  had  been  nobody's  for 
years  on  end,  became  all  Mither's  own,  and  as  clean 
as  a  whistle!  But  during  all  the  broiling  days  of 
cleaning,  I  would  be  reminding  you  that  not  a  neigh- 
bor came  to  the  door  with  a  bit  of  a  pie  for  the 
youngsters  to  eat  while  Mither  was  too  busy  to  dish 
up  fancies — ^^no,  not  a  neighbor.  So  Mither  whis- 
pered to  herself  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  when  she 
rested  idly  on  the  doorstep :  "  Sure,  and  I've  maybe 
moved  into  a  town  of  frozen  icicles  I " 

But  all  this  time  the  neighbors  were  saying:  "Just 
a  poor  Scotch-Irish  body  she  is,  with  a  whole  raft 
of  children  and  no  husband  living.  I  take  it  she'll 
find  it  right  hard  to  make  ends  meet." 

142 


JUST  MITHEE  143 

And  she  did,  too.  But  the  Httle  house  that  had 
been  nobody's  for  years  on  end  was  now  not  only 
spotless  inside,  but  outside  jolly  gay  geraniums 
flanked  the  front  doorsteps;  and  perhaps  you've  no- 
ticed yourself  that  a  "whole  raft  of  children"  make 
very  good  gardeners.  So  soft  green  grass  sprang  up 
and  was  always  neatly  cut,  and  vegetables  in  aston- 
ishingly straight  rows  began  to  make  the  MacCarthy 
mouths  water,  and  the  zinnias  grew  as  big  as  ap- 
ples. Oh,  it  was  a  dear  little  bit  of  a  home  that 
Mither  made  out  of  the  dingy  house  that  had  been 
nobody's  for  years  on  end ! 

But  that  "  raft  of  children  "  who  had  been  looking 
forward  all  their  young  lives  to  the  day  when  we 
"  flit  to  the  country  for  good-and-all  "  decided  that 
a  village  of  icicles  was  a  poor  substitute  for  the  city 
block  of  houses  where  Mither  was  heartily  hailed 
from  every  doorstep. 

"  Tut !  "  she  reprimanded  them,  "  ye've  gone  fair 
daft  in  yere  heads,  Biddy  and  Andy  and  wee  Mac- 
Gregor;  I'll  be  asking  you  to  clench  yer  teeth  on 
such  remarks ;  for  what's  one  poor  widow-woman 
more  nor  less  in  a  neat  little  village  all  self-satisfied 
like  this?  Aye,  just  a  poor  blue  gingham  apron 
widow  like  meself.  Tut !  Are  ye  expectin'  for  the 
band  to  be  meetin'  in  front  to  serenade  me,  and  for 
the  mayor  hisself  to  be  makin'  a  grand  speech?  'Tis 
fair  silly  ye  are !  And  now,  if  ye'll  fetch  yer  bits  of 
cushions  out  onto  the  doorsteps  I'll  be  readin'  ye 
from  yere  faither's  auld  Scots  Bible,  like  he  used 
to  be  doin'  hisself,  five  wee  months  ago." 

So  there  was  a  clatter  of  little  feet,  then  the  cush- 


144  NEXT-DOOB  NEIGHBOES 

ions  were  placed  side  by  side  facing  the  sunset  glow 
and  their  new  village  home — Bridget  and  Andrew 
and  MacGregor  MacCarthy,  their  eyes  like  saucers 
as  Mither  read  the  dear  quaint  words :  "  Tak  tent 
that  ye  lichtlie — no  ane  o'  thir  wee  anes;  for  say  I 
t'ye  that  in  Heeven  their  ain  Angels  aye  look  upon 
my  Heevenlie  Faither's  face !  For  the  Son  o'  Man 
has  come  to  save  thae  war  lost. 

"  Noo,  hoo  think  ye,  yersels  ?  Gin  a  man  hae  a 
hunner  sheep,  and  ane  o'  them  is  gane  awa,  dis  he 
no  lea'  the  ninety-and-nine,  and  gang  intil  the  moun- 
tains, seeking  the  ane  forwander't?  And  gin  sae  be 
that  he  lichts  on't,  truly  say  I  t'  ye,  he  is  blyther  ower 
that  sheep  than  ower  the  ninety-and-nine  that  gaed- 
no  awa.  E'en  sae,  thar  is  nae  desire  afore  yere 
Faither  in  Heeven  that  ane  o'  thir  wee  anes  soud  be 
lost." 

When  she  finished  every  wee  MacCarthy  knew  that 
Mither  was  like  that  herself,  looking  out  for  others, 
— and  they  went  to  bed  contented.  As  for  Mither 
herself,  she  locked  up  her  loneliness  inside  the  yoke 
of  her  old  gingham  frock.  "  Poof !  "  she  whispered, 
"  I'll  not  be  fretting  for  the  bit  of  slight  Fve  had ! " 

But  this  she  did:  she  bided  her  time;  and  when 
news  went  the  rounds  that  strangers  were  moving 
to  town,  she  armed  each  wee  MacCarthy  with  a  pail 
or  a  broom  and  a  scrubbing  brush,  and  into  that 
empty  house  she  marched  like  an  army  to  scour  and 
to  polish  the  worst  of  the  dirt ;  while  the  "  raft  of 
children"  weeded  the  front  yard.  And  when  the 
astonished  new  family  moved  into  this  spotless 
abode,  there  would  be  Andy  MacCarthy  a  while  later 


JUST  MITHER  145 

on  the  doorstep  saying:  "How  do  ye  do?  And  if 
ye  please,  Mither  says  to  tell  ye  as  how  the  first 
days  in  a  new  house  is  always  to  sixes  and  sevens, 
anyhow,  so  she's  just  sent  ye  over  this  wee  bit  of  a 
pie  to  knock  the  edge  off  yere  appetites — and,  that's 
all,  so  I'll  just  be  going  along  home,  thank  ye  kindly. 
Good-bye ! " 

All  in  one  breath  he  said  it,  too,  with  his  eyes 
peering  curiously  through  the  doorway  to  discover 
playmates  his  own  size. 

But  his  dear  brown  freckles  and  his  breathless  re- 
marks made  the  warmest  kind  of  a  spot  in  the 
stranger's  heart.  And  Mither  soon  had  a  new  friend, 
you  see!  For  in  even  the  smallest  of  towns  people 
do  keep  moving  in ;  and  Mither  was  always  in  their 
homes  before  them  "  spicking  and  spanning  things 
up,"  as  the  wee  MacCarthys  called  it.  And  some- 
times, in  the  spring  of  the  year,  they  planted  a  few 
little  seeds  in  these  new  neighbors'  garden  beds — all 
their  own  idea  this  was.  "  We'll  be  springing  a  bit 
of  a  surprise,  ourselves ! "  they  laughed  in  secret, 
until  the  neighbors  came  to  see  that  the  warm  friend- 
liness of  Mither  had  become  contagious — an  heir- 
loom to  her  "  raft  of  children  " ! 

Also,  if  any  one  were  sick,  on  went  Mither's  sun- 
bonnet  as  she  trudged  to  carry  jellies  to  the  invalid 
and  to  sympathize,  her  whole  Scotch-Irish  face 
aglow  with  feeling. 

So,  as  the  years  went  by,  the  wee  MacCarthys 
lengthened  out  to  big  MacCarthys,  and  Biddy  came 
to  teach  the  village  school  while  Andy  was  the  vil- 
lage preacher — and  a  fine  preacher  he  made,  too; 


146  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOES 

thundering  one  moment,  tender  as  kind  tears  the 
next.  All  the  wee  children  in  town  were  Andy's 
shadows :  "  Sure,  ye're  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin 
himself,"  laughed  Mither,  teasing  him. 

"  It  might  be  worse,  ye  will  admit,"  said  Andy, 
kissing  her. 

As  for  MacGregor  MacCarthy,  he  farmed  the 
pleasant  acres  Mither  had  bought,  bit  by  bit,  in  the 
rear  of  the  dingy  old  house  that  had  once  been 
nobody's  for  long  years  on  end.  And  MacGregor 
was  a  farmer  that  was  a  farmer.  Also,  a  tenth  of 
his  grain  and  a  tenth  of  his  fruit  and  a  tenth  of  his 
eggs  he  gave  to  Mither  to  spend  in  the  Lord's  work ; 
so  that  Mither,  who  had  once  given  only  her  poor 
widow's  mite,  felt  almost  like  some  Mrs.  Vanderbilt. 

Well,  in  the  course  of  time  Mither  grew  to  be 
seventy-five  years  old.  Yes,  that  she  did!  And  it 
is  a  great  many  years  to  have  lived.  So  the  village 
gave  her  a  surprise  party.  There  were  men  and 
women  there  whose  floors  she  had  scrubbed  with  her 
own  hands  before  ever  they  moved  to  town,  and  they 
felt  quite  rightly  that  nothing  but  a  kiss  on  Mither's 
withered  cheek  could  thank  her  half  enough;  and 
one  pretty  high  school  girl  cried  softly:  "Oh,  I'd 
rather  be  '  just  Mither '  than  the  most  beautiful  lady 
In  the  whole  wide  world !  " 

"  See  here,"  said  Andy  in  his  mellow,  pleasant 
voice,  "  what's  to  hinder  ye  from  being  Mither  yer- 
self?  Just  begin!  Just  &^  Mither,  lassie!  All  ye've 
got  to  do  is  to  care  for  some  one  else  as  much  as  ye 
care  for  yerself  In  homely  every-day  bits  of  work. 
That's  Mither!" 


JUST  MITHEE  147 

And  I'm  thinking  that  Home  missions  is  spreading 
just  that  self-same  spirit  round  the  town:  loving 
your  next-door  neighbors  as  hard  as  ever  you  love 
yourself,  like  this  poem  they  read  to  Mither  on  her 
birthday : 

TOUCHING  SHOUI.DERS 

There's  a  comforting  thought  at  the  close  of  the  day. 
When  I'm  weary  and  lonely  and  sad, 
That  sort  of  grips  hold  of  my  crusty  old  heart. 
And  bids  it  be  merry  and  glad; 
It  gets  in  my  soul  and  it  drives  out  the  blues, 
And  finally  thrills  through  and  through — 
It  is  just  a  sweet  memory  that  chants  the  refrain: 
'I'm  glad  I  touched  shoulders  with  you!" 

Did  you  know  you  were  brave?    Did  you  know  you 

were  strong? 
Did  you  know  there  was  one  leaning  hard? 
Did  you  know  that  I  waited  and  listened  and  prayed. 
And  was  cheered  by  your  simplest  word? 
Did  you  know  that  I  longed  for  that  smile  on  yoar 

face, 
For  the  sound  of  your  voice  ringing  true? 
Did  you  know  I  grew  stronger  and  better,  because 
I  had  merely  touched  shoulders  with  you? 

I  am  glad  that  I  live,  that  I  battle  and  strive 

For  the  place  that  I  know  I  must  fill; 

I  am  thankful  for  sorrows — I'll  meet  with  a  grin 

What  fortune  may  send — good  or  ill. 

I  may  not  have  wealth,  I  may  not  be  great 

But  I  know  I  shall  always  be  true, 

For  I  have  in  my  life  that  courage  you  gave 

When  once  I  rubbed  shoulders  with  you! 


THE  REST  OF  US 

XXV 
$ING  A  $ONG  OF  $IXPENCE 

OF  course  it  was  partly  the  Easter  music  and 
partly  the  Easter  sermon  and  partly  the 
scent  of  the  lovely  Easter  flowers,  but  how- 
ever it  came  about,  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
while  Alice  sat  primly  in  church  between  her  father 
and  mother  that  Easter  Sunday  morning,  she  did  an 
astonishing  thing ;  she  never  knew  how  it  could  have 
happened  without  any  one  noticing  her,  for  no  sooner 
had  she  put  her  head  against  her  father's  shoulder 
than  she  suddenly  found  herself  walking  and  walk- 
ing and  walking  through  marvellous  fields  of  Easter 
lilies;  up  and  up  she  climbed  until  she  even  reached 
the  golden  gates  of  heaven.  She  looked  inside  wist- 
fully, then  noticing  that  others  were  allowed  to  walk 
in,  she  said  to  the  Angel  at  the  gate :  "  Could  I  go 
in,  too,  please  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  Alice  in  Blunderland,  aren't  you  ?  " 
the  Angel  said,  turning  around.  "  Wait  a  moment, 
dear,  till  I  see  if  your  name  is  in  the  King's  Book  of 
Golden  Deeds." 

Alice  knew,  almost  before  the  Angel  looked,  that 
her  name  was  not  on  the  list — and  it  wasn't. 

148 


$mQ  A  $ONG  OF  ;^IXPENCE  149 

"  I'm  sorry,"  sighed  the  Angel,  "  but  of  course  you 
understand  that  it  would  not  be  fair  to  let  you  enjoy 
all  the  glory  inside  when  you  really  had  done  noth- 
ing to  help." 

Alice  felt  very  much  surprised.  "  But  what  could 
a  young  girl  like  me  do?  I'm  not  quite  twelve  yet. 
And  whatever  made  you  call  me  Alice  in  Blunder- 
land?  Do — do  I  s-seem  to  have  made  so  many 
b-blunders?" 

"  I'm  afraid  you  have,  for  all  the  entries  in  the 
Book  of  Golden  Deeds  are  on  the  Blunderland  side 
instead  of  the  Wonderland  side.  So  many  children 
live,  and  grow  up,  and  die  in  Blunderland  without 
once  playing  *  Tag !    You're  It ! '  " 

Alice  simply  stared.  "  Well,  if  that's  all,  I  think 
you  ought  to  know  that  I  perfectly  love  to  play  that 
game,  dear  Angel ;  I  play  it  day  after  day  after  day." 

The  Angel  seemed  really  startled  and  searched 
again  through  all  the  records.  "  There  is  no  littlest 
mention  of  your  having  played  the  kind  of  game  I 
mean,  no,  not  even  once !  " 

"  But  what  kind  can  you  mean?"  Alice  asked,  al- 
most crossly.  Of  course,  if  they  had  their  own 
special  kind,  how  was  she  to  .know  she  ought  to  play 
it? 

"  It's  exactly  like  any  other  game  of  tag,  my  dear ; 
the  minute  you  are  touched,  then  Tag !  you're  it !  and 
you  m.ust  hurry  and  touch  some  one  else.  But  I 
find  that  in  Blunderland  men,  women,  and  children 
who  are  touched  stand  perfectly  still  and  say  to  each 
other :  '  I've  been  touched !  Oh,  surely  nobody  is  so 
easily  touched  as  I  am ! '    But  they  never  budge  one 


150  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

single  inch  to  touch  anybody  else.  So  it's  these 
stand-still-do-nothing,  keep  -  everything-for^  them- 
selves people  in  Blunderland  who  are  continually 
spoiling  God's  beautiful  plan  for  Next-Door  Neigh- 
bors." 

Alice  looked  at  the  Angel  eagerly :  "  But  maybe 
I'm  not  nearly  so  bad  as  you  think,  for  maybe  I've 
never  been  touched! " 

"  Oh,  but  you  have !  "  cried  the  Angel,  "  it's  dovrn 
here  on  the  records.  Let  me  see, — one,  two  .  .  . 
five  .  .  .  eight  .  .  .  oh,  fully  a  dozen  times 
you  have  been  touched  by  stories  of  these  neighbors." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  sighed  Alice  in  a  small  meek  voice. 

"Yes,  dear;  don't  you  remember  being  touched 
about  little  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  who  picked  string 
beans  for  you  one  summer?  And  about  Tiptoe 
Tessa's  making  Easter  roses  for  new  bonnets?  And 
oh,  but  you  were  touched  about  Olga  Robsa's  starch- 
box  garden :  you  were  going  to  send  her  more  seeds 
right  away " 

"  So  I  was ! "  Alice  admitted,  "  but  I  even  forgot 
to  tell  mother.  I've  blundered  a  good  deal,  I  guess. 
Yet  I  meant  all  right;  I'm  wondering,  was  I  ever 
touched  again  when  I  stood  still  and  wouldn't  be 
'It'?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  There  was  the  story  called  *  Just 
Mither/  You  whispered  to  yourself:  'I'll  be  a  neigh- 
bor like  those  wee  MacCarthys,  myself ' ;  and  as  for 
Little  Squaw-Laughs-at-the-Sky  you  said :  *  I'll  send 
a  Christmas  package  all  my  very  own  to  the  lone- 
somest  missionary  there  is !  *  Then  later  on,  when 
it  came  to  people  who  never  saw  a  Bible  before,  oh, 


$mG  A  $ONG  OF  SIXPENCE  151 

you  were  so  touched  and  declared  nothing  in  the 
world  would  be  quite  so  wonderful  as  sending  Bibles 
to  some  of  your  six  million  neighbors  who  never  yet 
had  owned  one " 

Alice  remembered  perfectly. 

"But  you  stood  still,"  the  Angel  said,  closing  the 
King's  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

"  I  wonder,"  Alice  timidly  began,  "  I  wonder  how 
a  little  girl  like  me  can  play  this  game  of  Tag,  dear 
Angel.  I  don't  know  enough  to  be  a  missionary  to  go 
and  touch  these  people,  I'm  really  hardly  old  enough 
to  leave  home." 

"Very  true,"  smiled  the  Angel,  "but  surely,  like 
God's  other  stay-at-homes,  you  could  $ing  a  $ong  of 
Sixpence ! " 

"  But  I've  never  sung  in  public  in  my  life,"  gasped 
Alice,  turning  pale.  "What  does  this  song  sound 
like?" 

"  Oh,  the  cheerfullest  little  clinking  tinkling  tune 
that  ever  was;  you  can  fairly  hear  the  Christian 
nickels,  dimes  and  quarters  piling  up  into  neat  stacks 
of  silver  dollars,  preparing  to  rush  out  and  touch  all 
next-door  neighbors.  Any  one  can  sing  this  song; 
just  open  your  pocketbook  wide  and  it  almost  sings 
itself.  The  refrain  is  lovely,  too,  for  every  verse 
ends  with  the  words : 

"  The  Lord  Loveth  a  Cheerful  Giver." 

Alice  simply  beamed :  "  I  never  guessed  you  could 
play  Tag  with  money!  Did  you  know  that  down  in 
Blunderland  I  have  a  little  tin  bank  on  my  bureau 
simply  bursting  with  dimes  and  quarters  this  very 


152  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

minute?     I  only  wish  I  knew  what  dollars  do  for 

neighbors " 

The  Angel  opened  a  little  book  where  Alice  read 
a  lengthy  list: 

"  I.  $alarie$  for  missionaries  everywhere 
begin  and  end  with  Christian  dollars. 

"  2.  $hip$  and  $ail$  and  $team-car$  to  carry 
them  to  their  mission  fields  begin  and  end  with 
Christian  dollars. 

"3.  $addle$  and  $led$,  $urrey$  and  $wift 
motor$  to  take  them  round  their  mission  stations 
begin  and  end  with  Christian  dollars. 

"4.  $chool$  and  $cholar$hip$,  $late$  and 
$tudy-book$,  $eat$  and  $cissor$  all  begin  and 
end  with  Christian  dollars. 

"  5.  $icknesse$  and  $urgeon$,  $tretcher$  and 
$plint$,  $ponge$  and  $pray$,  $oap$  and 
$oup$,  $heet$  and  $upplie$  for  every  Christian 
hospital  begin  and  end  with  Christian  dollars, 

"  6.  $hoe$  and  $ock$,  $hirt$  and  $kirt$  for 
little  orphan  children  begin  and  end  with  Chris- 
tian dollars. 

"7.  $wing$  and  $hower-bath$,  $ewing- 
classe$  and  $cIssor$,  $hutter$  and  $idewalk$ 
and  $tep$  on  Christian  Centers  all  begin  and  end 
with  Christian  dollars. 

"8.  $cripture$  and  $croll$,  $ong-book$  and 
$ervice$  in  Christian  missions  begin  and  end 
with  Christian  dollars. 

"9.  $eed$  and  $pade$  and  $mall  $lum-gar- 
den$  begin  and  end  with  Christian  dollars." 

"  Well,  I  can  plainly  see,"  said  Alice,  "  that  when 
you  $ing  a  $ong  of  $ixpence  you  simply  can't  help 
touching  some  one  else !  " 

"  Sh !  Sh ! "  her  father  whispered  in  her  ear,  ut- 


$mQ  A  $ONG  OF  SIXPENCE  163 

terly  scandalized ;  "  don't  talk  out  loud,  dear ! " 
Whereupon  Alice  opened  her  astonished  eyes  and 
found  herself  in  church,  in  her  own  pew,  cuddled  up 
next  to  her  father.     .     .     . 

"  For  goodness'  sake,"  said  Alice  to  herself,  "  it 
must  have  been  a  dream."  Yet  how  exceedingly  real 
it  had  seemed,  how  horrid  and  how  blundering  she 
had  felt  as  the  Angel's  gentle  eyes  had  looked  her 
up  and  down:  Alice  in  Blunderland,  the  slow-poke 
stand-still  girl  who  never  played  God's  game  of  Tag ! 
You're  It! 

By  now,  of  course,  she's  moved  from  Blunderland 
forever,  and  is  saying  to  each  Christian  boy  and  girl 
to-day :  "  I've  touched  you,  so  do  $ing  a  $ong  of 
$ixpence  right  away !  " 


XXVI 
PLEASE  DO  NOT  OPEN  TILL  CHRISTMAS 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Little  Old 
Lady  from  Holland.  And  once  upon  the 
same  time  there  was  a  Sunday-school  class, 
— in  fact,  two  of  them.  As  for  the  time  itself,  it  was 
the  day  before  Christmas,  with  fluffy  flakes  of  snow 
in  the  air,  and  the  klinkle-klank  of  sleigh  bells. 
There  was  the  spicy  smell  of  Christmas  trees  and 
the  terrible  bustling  of  worried  people  who  had  fool- 
ishly forgotten  to  do  their  shopping  early.  And  the 
Little  Old  Lady  was  provoked  at  them. 

"  It's  even  worse  this  year  than  usual,"  she  said  to 
the  Minister's  Daughter  when  she  came  to  the  hand- 
kerchief counter  to  make  the  very  last  purchase  on 
her  list. 

"  We're  a  shameless,  thoughtless  lot  of  Chris- 
tians," sighed  the  Minister's  Daughter,  "  and  I  do 
hope  we  won't  tire  you  out  so  you  can't  enjoy  your 
Christmas  to-morrow." 

The  Little  Old  Lady  handed  the  package  over  the 
counter  as  she  answered :  "  Oh,  as  for  Christmas,  I 
pretend  there  isn't  any  such  day  any  more." 

"  No  such  day  as  Christmas  ?  Why,  you  sound 
like  a  heathen,"  gasped  the  Minister's  Daughter; 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  I'm  always  clean  tuckered 
out  by  Christmas  Eve.    You  see  I'm  getting  old,  my 

154 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  OPEN  TILL  CHEISTMAS  155 

dear,  and  then  somehow — well — my  boys  aren't  liv- 
ing any  more,  and  Christmas  isn't  Christmas  in  a 
flat  with  no  family  and  no  presents.  So  to-night  I'll 
probably  do  what  I  did  last  year,  just  creep  home 
when  the  store  closes  at  half-past  nine  and  crawl 
into  bed  in  the  dark.  It's  easier  to  pretend  things  are 
like  they  used  to  be  when  the  lights  aren't  on ! " 

The  Minister's  Daughter  leaned  over  the  counter 
and  laid  her  hand  on  the  Little  Old  Lady's.  "  Oh, 
I'm  so  sorry,  so  very,  very  sorry ! "  she  said,  and 
wanted  to  cry  dreadfully.  Only  of  course  it 
wouldn't  have  been  the  proper  thing  to  do,  at  all.  So 
instead  of  crying  she  had  a  sudden  Idea,  with  a  big 
capital  "  I " !  She  simply  flew  out  of  the  store,  as 
if  there  had  not  been  several  hundred  bustling  people 
with  arms  full  of  bundles.  She  even  forgot  to  mind 
standing  up  in  the  street-car,  for  the  Idea  was  so 
perfectly  delightful  it  was  like  fairy  wishes  coming 
true,  with  herself  as  the  fairy  godmother. 

When  she  reached  home  she  sat  down  and  tele- 
phoned to  so  many  persons  that  finally  the  Girl-at- 
Central  "listened  in"  on  one  conversation, — and 
smiled  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  So  you  may  be  sure 
she  approved  of  the  scheme  she  overheard. 

Christmas  Eve  the  snow  was  fluffier  than  ever, 
and  the  Minister  decided  all  of  it  had  been  tramped 
into  his  front  hall  by  those  jolly  laughing  boys  and 
girls.  But  he  loved  it,  because  there  was  Christmas 
in  the  air,  and  Christmas  in  their  hearts. 

Then  the  Minister's  Daughter  suddenly  looked  at 
her  watch.  "  Oh,  my  dears,  it's  high  time  we  were 
off,"  she  called ;  "  remember  she  leaves  the  store  at 


156  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBORS 

half-past  nine.  Come  on !  "  So  they  hurried  away, 
each  with  a  chunky  parcel. 

And  the  fairy  story  began. 

It  was  a  dingy  little  room,  but  they  did  things  to 
it,  working  fast  as  fairies  must  before  mortals  can 
burst  in  and  find  them  busy.  Then  they  turned  out 
the  gas,  tiptoed  out,  and  scampered  across  the  street 
to  a  drug-store  for  hot  chocolate.  Just  the  Minis- 
ter's Daughter  and  the  Deacon's  Son  paced  up  and 
down  outside,  trying  to  look  each  time  as  if  they 
were  arriving  anew,  instead  of  killing  time. 

Presently  the  Little  Old  Lady  from  Holland  came 
into  view,  so  tired  that  she  shuffled  her  poor  Dutch 
feet  through  the  snow.  And  right  at  her  own  door- 
step who  should  she  see  coming  towards  her  but 
her  nice  Minister's  nice  daughter,  recently  engaged 
to  the  Deacon's  son. 

"  Imagine  seeing  you  twice  in  one  day,  my  dear," 
she  said. 

The  Deacon's  Son  nudged  the  Minister's  Daugh- 
ter, for  the  scheme  had  worked !  The  dear  old  soul 
evidently  thought  it  had  all  just  happened,  so  the 
Minister's  Daughter  said :  "  As  long  as  we  have  met, 
I'm  going  to  give  you  a  good-night  kiss,"  and  she 
popped  it  right  on  the  Old  Lady's  cheek  where  the 
snow-drops  were  melting. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  Thank  you !  "  she  cried  hap- 
pily; and  although  that  was  all  that  the  Minister's 
Daughter  had  waited  outside  for,  the  Deacon's  Son 
had  an  extra  idea  of  his  own. 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  give  you  a  kiss  myself,"  he 
exclaimed.     So  he  did!     On  the  other  cheek. 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  OPEN  TILL  CHRISTMAS  157 

"  Bless  me !  "  sighed  the  Little  Old  Lady,  "  I'm  all 
aflutter.  I'll  surely  sleep  well  this  night,  my  dears. 
God  bless  you  both  and  make  you  happy.  Good- 
night— and  a  merry  Christmas." 

When  the  front  door  had  shut  the  Minister's 
Daughter  said,  "  Oh,  I  do  hope  she  won't  light  the 
gas!" 

The  Deacon's  Son  fairly  glued  his  eye  on  the 
second-story  window :  "  I'm  pretty  sure  she  won't, 
she  doesn't  usually;  and  if  she  hasn't  been  kissing 
anybody  in  a  long  time,  she'll  surely  want  to  think 
about  it  in  the  dark." 

The  Minister's  Daughter  wanted  to  laugh  because 
he  sounded  so  wondrous  wise,  but  she  sighed  instead 
and  said :  "  Oh,  Peter  dear,  I  do  hope  you'll  never 
be  a  lonely  old  man !  " 

"  I  hope  not,  dear,"  he  answered  reverently,  for 
you  will  remember  that  they  were  planning  to  live 
together  forever  and  ever. 

They  stood  quietly  watching  the  Old  Lady's  win- 
dow; it  remained  dark;  and  presently  it  was  raised 
a  few  inches,  so  they  knew  she  had  undressed  and 
was  ready  for  bed, 

"  I'll  get  the  children,"  he  said,  and  ran  over  to 
the  drug-store, 

"  Come  along,  Herald  Angels,"  he  called,  "  if  you 
swallow  any  more  hot  chocolate  you  won't  be  able 
to  warble  properly !  "  So  they  wrapped  themselves 
in  mufflers  and  trooped  out  into  the  scrunchy  snow. 

"  Quiet  now ! "  ordered  the  Deacon's  Son,  "  re- 
member you're  angels  and  are  to  sing  that  tired  old 
Darling  to  sleep." 


158  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOES 

So  they  tiptoed  across  to  her  house,  and  through 
the  open  crack  of  her  window  there  floated :  "  Holy 
Night,  Silent  Night,"  sounding  as  it  only  can  sound 
when  sixteen  young  hearts  are  brimming  over  with 
Christmas  love  for  somebody  else. 

The  Little  Old  Lady  lay  in  bed  and  loved  it.  "  Am 
I  dreaming,  or  is  it  real  ? "  she  wondered, — and 
seemed  to  feel  those  two  warm  kisses  on  her  cheeks 
all  over  again.  But  by  the  third  verse  she  had  actually 
snoozed  right  off  into  a  dream  of  Holland,  so  the 
rest  of  their  carols  interested  only  the  neighbors, 
who  smiled  to  hear  some  of  the  Herald  Angels  break 
down  forlornly  on  the  high  notes  of  their  fifth 
hymn, 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better  go  now,"  said  the  Minis- 
ter's Daughter.  And  the  angels  one  and  all  agreed, 
for  they  were  getting  chilly  and  sleepy.  But  they 
liked  it,  for  Christmas  was  in  the  air. 

Presently  the  Minister's  Daughter  had  kissed  all 
her  angels  good-night,  and  the  Deacon's  Son  had 
slapped  all  his  angels  on  the  back.  And  the  wise  old 
Man  in  the  Moon  chuckled  to  himself,  for  Christmas 
comes  only  once  in  a  year,  and  he  liked  what  they 
had  been  up  to ! 

The  sun  liked  it,  too,  and  was  really  impatient 
at  the  Little  Old  Lady  the  next  morning — was  she 
never  going  to  wake  up  ?  Finally  he  sent  a  sunbeam 
to  dance  on  her  eyelids,  whereat  she  sighed  and  half 
woke  up.  "  It's  funny,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
"but  I  never  pretended  to  smell  pine  boughs  so 
plainly  before.  I'm  getting  good  at  pretending!" 
But  the  sunbeam  kept  on  dancing  until  she  squinted 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  OPEN  TILL  CHEISTMAS  159 

through  her  eyelashes,  and  was  presently  sitting  bolt 
upright  in  bed. 

"  But,  of  course,  it's  just  a  dream,"  she  cautioned 
herself  wisely.  Yet  there  was  her  table  loaded  down 
with  giddy  red  packages,  every  single  one  of  which 
was  plainly  labelled :  "  Please  Do  Not  Open  Till 
Christmas." 

"  Well,  it's  Christmas  this  very  minute,  and  I'd 
better  open  them  quick  before  I  wake  up  alto- 
gether " ;  so  she  snipped  the  string  off  the  first  pack- 
age. Well !  well !  oranges — ^how  very  long  ago  it  was 
since  she  had  had  any!  And  dear  me,  what  a 
lovely  padded  jacket  to  go  under  her  thin  winter 
coat — oh,  if  only  that  jacket  would  not  vanish  into 
thin  air  when  she  actually  woke  up !  And  my !  my ! 
what  a  beautiful  work-bag;  oh,  how  nice!  two  balls 
of  red  yarn  inside,  also  some  knitting  needles,  with 
this  note :  "  Johnnie  Tucker  needs  some  mittens.  He 
is  seven  years  old.  You'll  know  what  size  to  knit 
him." 

"  I'd  best  cast  on  twenty  stitches,"  she  decided  at 
once,  thinking  how  odd  it  was  to  receive  dream  notes 
that  crinkled  like  real  paper. 

She  had  a  marvellous  half  hour;  for  there  was  a 
box  of  hard  candies,  the  kind  that  last  a  long  time 
because  you're  only  supposed  to  suck  and  suck  on 
them;  there  were  two  books,  and  a  dainty  lace  col- 
lar; there  was  a  pound  of  tea  and  a  nice  little  cup 
and  saucer  to  drink  it  out  of;  there  was  a  tiny 
Christmas  tree  with  all  sorts  of  cute  presents  dan- 
gling from  every  bough — a  tiny  pencil,  a  candy  cane, 
a  package  of  silvery  wire  hairpins  (to  match  white 


160  l^XT-DOOE  NEIGHBOKS 

hair!),  a  small  calendar,  a  little  bottle  of  cologne,  a 
crocheted  wash-cloth  —  oh,  ever  so  many  other 
things,  and  among  them  a  handkerchief  which  had 
actually  come  off  her  very  own  counter  at  the  store. 
She  remembered  selling  one  yesterday. 

It  was  that  handkerchief  which  made  her  pinch 
herself  to  see  if  she  was  awake.  And  she  was!  So 
she  began  putting  two  and  two  together:  the  hand- 
kerchief and  the  Minister's  Daughter;  the  Deacon's 
Son  and  the  good-night  kisses;  the  Christmas  carols 
and  all  these  surprisingly  real  presents.  Certainly 
nothing  like  this  had  ever  happened  before. 

"  The  sweet  young  things !  "  she  smiled.  "  Dear 
God,  how  very  good  you  are  to  me !  " 

So  it  was  a  wonderful  morning;  and  in  the  after- 
noon they  came.  They  found  her  sucking  pleasantly 
on  a  hard  candy  and  knitting  Johnnie  Tucker's  mit- 
tens. They  played  quaint  old  games  with  her, — 
Twenty  Questions  and  Hide  the  Thimble;  and  they 
admired  her  presents  one  by  one  as  if  they  had  never 
seen  them  before. 

"  It's  been  my  merriest  Christmas,"  she  whispered 
to  each  of  them  as  they  kissed  her  good-bye. 
Whereupon  every  single  one  of  them  answered: 
"  Why,  It's  been  my  happiest  Christmas,  too ! " 

And  I  can't  resist  telling  you  that  there's  a  lonely 
old  Lady  in  your  church.  I'm  sure  you  want  to  have 
the  merriest  Christmas  possible,  so  I'm  hinting  to 
you  how  you  can  find  it : — tuck  it  Inside  her  package 
and  label  it:  "Please  Do  Not  Open  Till  Christ- 
mas!" 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  Ameriea. 


DATE  DUE 

-^mm 

ws^ 

DEMCO  38-297 


IM'WmimM. 


